Let’s talk about rain in Bangalore, shall we? The sheer romanticization of rain is something that baffles me to no end. Like, why? Why on earth would anyone romanticize this annual deluge of dirt, discomfort, and disaster? It is like romanticizing a monkey’s butt-hole. Sure, it’s natural, but no one wants to do anything with it. But nope, every Raj, Rahul, and Anjali is out there losing their minds over a few drops of water. As soon as the first cloud farts, social media is awash with poetic nonsense and blurry photos of wet streets. Oh look, it’s a sepia-toned filter on a puddle that looks suspiciously like raw sewage.
The first thing which comes to my head when I think of the rains in India — dirty fucking roads! And not just a little grime, we are talking about a full-on mud bath for your shoes. Welcome to the Bangalore monsoon special: a daily dose of sewage water mixed with rainwater, artistically overflowing onto the roads. One minute you are cruising down MG Road, the next you are jumping into a pothole the size of your existential crisis.
And don’t forget the mighty monsoon traffic. Don’t know what it is about the rains, but as soon as those first drops fall, everyone wants a piece of it, because did it even rain if you don’t take out your fancy car for a long drive to post a mediocre picture of raindrops on your windshield with a cringe-worthy caption. And if that wasn’t already over the top, you have to add a music track to your heavily edited photo, showcasing your terrible taste in music.
Yet, somehow, God knows why, rain still manages to pull in the crowd. The romantics, armed with their coffee cups and bajjis and egg puffs, ready to flood your Insta feed. “Rainy days and coffee” #Bliss. What bliss? Your clothes are soaked, your shoes squelch, and you are one gust of wind away from a week-long power cut. And those bajjis? Yeah, nothing says “romantic” like deep-fried snacks seasoned with the essence of muddy rain water.
My personal favourite — “The smell of earth when it rains is so refreshing”. #Monsoonvibes. Sure, Shilpa, tell that to the colonies of mosquitoes now planning a full-scale Dengue attack. And what the heck do they even mean by “Monsoon vibes”? Is it an invitation to join them in the impending gastrointestinal distress from street food marinated in rainwater?
And let’s not forget our friends from Lavelle road, nibbling on artisanal pistachio crusted croissants in a cafe where a cup of coffee costs more than your entire monthly take-home salary. I can just see the captions now: “Rainy days are for pistachio croissants and people-watching.” You know what else you can watch? The auto-guy pushing his auto out of a puddle that used to be a road.
Did I talk about the power cuts? Because in India, the rain doesn’t just bring water, it brings darkness. One drizzle and the electricity board throws up its hands in defeat. Candlelight dinners are romantic, sure, but not when you are trying to find your way to the bathroom in pitch black, tripping over furniture and pondering why fate placed you in this god-forsaken country.
So, next time someone tries to wax lyrical and sell you the idea that rain in Bangalore is some out-of-the-world, magical, romantic experience, just remember — it’s mostly an exercise in avoiding waterlogged doom, dodging traffic, and navigating sewage-filled streets. But hey, if that is your idea of romance, more power to you. Just don’t expect me to join you with a pistachio croissant and filter coffee. I will be too busy drying my clothes and cursing the rain Gods.
