Delhi Monsoons: Looking Back At A World Of Love & Longing

Having grown up in Delhi, I remember the Monsoons of my childhood as a period of unmatched joy. Cycling back from school (yes, there was a time when children could actually cycle on the roads of Delhi, that too, main roads!), I remember getting drenched in the rain and coming home with soaking wet school textbooks. But it was compensated with piping hot bhutta bought from the road side.Being young, it was fun to get wet in the rain and watch others sheltering under the giant neem and jamun trees that lined the roads. Later, it was a treat to pick the fallen plump jamun berries from the road or to buy some from the vendors who tossed them in tangy masala and served them in little cups fashioned out of leaves.Another family favourite during the Monsoons was driving through pouring rain to have chaat at Sweets Corner in Sunder Nagar. The joy of pani-puri, aloo tikki or dahi papri was no match for home-made pakoras.Or going to the India Gate Lawns where one could run and dance, romp and play in the rain with complete abandon, for everyone else – young and old – was doing the same.I remember boating in the shallow canal near India Gate, upturning the boat and standing in waist-high waters with a bunch of can-get-no-wetter school friends!Delhi-NCR Rains: Roads Flooded, Wall Collapse Leaves Cars Damaged‘Barkha Bahar’: A World Of Love & LongingNow, in this endlessly extended self-distancing, as I look forlornly at the rains from a window, I draw solace from reciting rain-related poetry to rekindle the magic of those days. I am the birahini, separated from her beloved Delhi. Reading Bikat Kahani, the baramasa by Afzal Jhinjhanvi, I am transposed to a world of love and longing associated with barkha bahar, the rainy season:Ari jab kook koel ne sunayiTamami tan badan mein aag lahiAndher rain, jugnu jagmagataOoka jalti upar tais ka jalata?Ah, when the cuckoo sounds her cooingIt sets my body aflameThe glow worm glows in the darkness of the nightWhy does it burn one already on fire?The birahini (also spelt as virahini, literally meaning a woman who is in virah or separation) of the baramasa feels the pain of separation most keenly in the month of saawan, for it is during the rains that men traditionally stayed home or came back as business was slack, possibly because roads became un-passable.Tradition also demanded that a young bride would be called to her parents’ home when her brother would be sent to fetch her at the beginning of the season. Shortly after a token visit, she would return to her husband’s home and resume her conjugal life.Heaviest Rain This Monsoon Leaves Parts of Delhi WaterloggedOf Seasons Past – And Enjoying Plentiful Rains With One’s BelovedWhen there is a departure from this time-honoured way of life, when the woman finds herself alone and bereft during the months of the rains (traditionally said to last for a chuamasa, or four months), then the dark clouds, the call of the koel, the darts of rain, the smell of damp earth, the dancing peacocks, the blood-red birbahuti insects, remind her that all other women are with their husbands while she is not; she is reminded of seasons past when she had enjoyed the plentiful rains with her beloved and is tormented by the thought of his dalliances elsewhere. Different baramasas used this repertoire of images in different ways. Here’s a sampler:Papiha de namak ghaavon ko ke peeGhari sahar ghari doobe mera jeeThe cuckoo pours salt over my wounds and tells me to drink itWhile all the while my heart sinks from minute to minuteAnd:Asaarh aaya ghata chhayi gagan parRasawat man mera rasiya sajan parThe month of Asaar has come, the clouds cover the skyMy heart pines for my feckless belovedWhen Male Urdu Poets Dropped The ‘Fake Female Voice’With time, while male poets continued to write Urdu poetry on the rains, they dropped the vocal masquerade, and instead of the fake female voice of the baramasas, began to write as men. So, here’s Sudarshan Faakir linking barsaat with sharaab in a ghazal immortalised by Begum Akhtar:Hum to samjhe thhe ke barsaat mein barsegi sharaabAai barsaat to barsaat ne dil torh diyaI had though wine would pour down during the rainsBut when it came, even the rain broke my heartFaakir weaves the same magic in his evocation of bachpan ka sawan in this haunting nazm sung by Chitra and Jagjit Singh:Ye daulat bhi le lo ye shohrat bhi le loBhale chhin lo mujh se se meri javaniMagar mujh ko lauta do woh bachpan ka saavanWo kaġhaz ki kashti vo barish ka paaniTake away all my wealth and fameRob me of my youth if you mustBut bring back the rainy season of my childhoodThat boat made of paper on that rainwaterGulzar’s ‘Bheegi Bheegi Udaas Yaadein’A contemporary poet who has written extensively on the rains is Gulzar. Here’s a sampler from his non-film ouvre, the first entitled Gali Mein (‘In the Alley’):Baarish hoti hai to paani ko bhi lag jaate hain paaonDar-o-diwar se takra ke guzarta hai gali seAur ucchalta hai chhapakon meinKisi maitch mein jeete huwe ladkon ki tarahWhen it rains the water acquires feet of its ownKnocking off the doors and walls, it passes through the alleyAnd splashes about in puddlesLike boys who have won some match!And in another poem entitled ‘Seelan’ (‘Wetness’):Bas eik hii sur mein, bas eik hi lai par subah se, dekh –Dekh, kaise baras raha hai udaas paniPhuwaar ke malmali dupatte se urh rahe hainTamaam mausam tapak raha haiPalak palak riss rahi hai yeh kainaat saariHar eik shai bheeg bheeg kar dekh kaise bojhal sii ho gayi haiDimagh ki geeli geeli sochon seBheegi bheegi udaas yaadein tapak rahiin hainThake thake se badan mein dheere dheere –Saanson ka garm lobaan jal raha hai!In the same tune, in the same rhythmSee how the sad rain has been falling all morningThe mulmul-like dupatta of a steady drizzle is floatingThe very air is drippingEvery bit of all creation is seepingSee, how everything is soaking wet and heavyFrom the wet workings of the mindSodden sad thoughts are drippingThe warm incense of breath is slowly smoulderingIn the tired bodyDo Women Write Differently About The Rains?Read ‘Eik Ladki ke Naam’ (‘Addressed to a Young girl’) by Parveen Shakir to find out:Ladki!Yeh lamhe badal hainGuzar gaye to haath kabhi nahi aayngeInke lams ko peetii jaQatra-qatra bheegti jaBheegti ja tu jab tak inn mein nam haiAur tere andar ki mitti pyasi haiMujhse poochKe barish ko waapas aane ka rasta kabhi na yaad huaBaal sukhaane ke mausam anparh hote hain!Girl!These moments are cloudsOnce gone, they will never returnDrink their touchDrop, by drop drench yourselfSoak yourself in them till you are wetAnd the soil inside you is athirstAsk meThe rains never remember the way backThe season of drying your hair is illiterate!(Dr Rakhshanda Jalil is a writer, translator and literary historian. She writes on literature, culture and society. She runs Hindustani Awaaz, an organisation devoted to the popularisation of Urdu literature. She tweets at @RakhshandaJalil. This is an opinion piece and the views expressed above are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for the same.)

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Delhi Monsoons: Looking Back At A World Of Love & Longing

This ‘saavan’, I am the ‘birahini’ separated from my beloved Delhi, writes literary historian Dr Rakhshanda Jalil.

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