Biswas Baral

God’s perennial bliss to this part of the world is pattering its way into Nepal again. After one of the hottest summers in recent history: a summer spent, skimping the all-too-sunny daytime

appointments, taking in inordinate quantities of cold drinks, hearing of the egg-boiling temperatures from Kolkata to Nepalgunj, yes, it’s monsoon again. The irony is, we cannot relish this heaven sent gift without thinking about all those to whom this season portends as much blight, as it represents bliss. Many provinces of China have already been inundated. It may only be a matter of time before monsoon sets in, in earnest, through the Bay of Bengal, flooding swathes of land across India, Bangladesh and Nepal. Flood forecasts have already abounded. However, even such grim prospects do not prevent us, the hapless denizens of Kathmandu, forever lulled by the pipedream of Melamchi pipelines snaking through the arid capital, from rejoicing at the prospect of sluicing down our mosquito-splattered torsos, littered over the blazing summer months due to the shortage of water.

Notwithstanding the miseries that this time of year brings to Nepal — clogged roads, waterborne diseases, loss of lives and property — this is my favourite season. There is nothing like hearing the pitter-patter of the raindrops on the freshly sprouted leaves, or smelling the fragrance after the first raindrops kiss the dirt. The days we friends used to trudge our way to school in knee-high gumboots, frolicking, splashing the slime with willed squelch, or the joyous times we raced bicycles in torrents, established my love affair with this verdant season. With no college to head down to amid the incessant downfalls; no new job raining me with benefits; no Monsoon Weddings to attend, my wet months are bound to be a little different this year. No matter how this season ends though, I will move on with my life. I can only hope this rainy season brings serenity to our minds and inspires introspection in all. Monsoon epitomises the state of our nation in many ways. Our reservation with it mirrors the unease with which we have learned to take in every kind of change lately. We wait, expectant,

all our fingers crossed.