When It Rains in Belagavi

Rain! It’s not a rhetorical question; maybe it’s a romantic one. What happens when it rains? As a doctor, I might sound unromantic because if you ask me, rain brings along a lot of patients—dengue, chikungunya, gastro, and so many more. But let’s leave that part aside and not hurt sentiments. So, what does rain bring?

Belagavi’s attitude is typical. Haste makes waste! So the rains start slowly and end slowly. The city prays all of June for some rains until they decide it’s time to bless the town with showers.

The skies pour down like the chatter of womenfolk on a leisurely evening over the courtyard—it forgets to stop! Then the skies pause, look down, and ask, “Enough?” The citizens say yes, and the farmers say no. Then the rain god just picks up the local newspapers to plan its itinerary. When the papers say “Rakaskop yet to fill,” the skies open and pour some more. Then the headlines scream “Low-lying areas submerged, kids facing problems on the way to school,” the skies again pause. And then it begins all over again. The papers take to it with hearty statements, “Farmers need more rain to sustain drying crops.” Oh! The dutiful skies pour down again.

Let’s explore Bollywood. Rains are supposed to bring romance, getting wet, dancing, smiling, and laughing at someone splashing water at you, holding hands—it’s a splendid romance! But suppose I ask my wife (even when she was my girlfriend) to do that with me. In that case, she has a different “raag malhar” altogether—a bucket list of reasons: don’t want to get sick, the rain is too heavy, the mud is difficult to remove from clothes, it’s not hygienic, it’s crazy, people stare, and last but not least, grow up. I sometimes wonder if Bollywood heroines have an extra budget for washing clothes and super immunity. Anyway, I miss Sridevi.

Rain might be romantic in movies, especially for the middle class. There are so many romantic scenes where hard-working couples feel so loved. There’s a roof leaking, utensils collecting water so the floor isn’t wet—it’s like mopping the pitch when the entire stadium is wet. Plus, there’s the problem of clothes never drying, hence the scarcity of material to cover yourself the next day, rather the next gloomy, exhilarating morning. Then there are the much more romantic HESCOM guys who just take off the lights to make the ambiance more inviting all the time. Cold water for a bath, crushed clothes without ironing, no mixers to cook food, no water to wash, no work to do—this is the best mix for a romantic day. Somehow, I don’t see why we can’t just hold hands, get wet, and be happy with all this. I really miss Sridevi.

And then there’s the splashes. I don’t see anyone finding solace in that splash. Why not? There are so many moments where you can get splashed on. Rickshaw guys, trucks, high-on-adrenaline bikers, the gentlemanly NWKRTC buses—all of them make romantic overtures by splashing water at you, and yet nobody takes it with love. Where has the romance gone? Someday, I wish I could soak somebody with a splash, and she would just smile back at me and say, “Love you for that.”

I always believed “daag acche hai,” and rain was the best season to get daag. But neither my mom nor my wife shared this enthusiasm. We even had Surf Excel at home! This annoys me. Why can’t people just be happy with all the spots? It’s like an off-season Holi. Only the kids enjoy this. Adults have lost their romance somewhere down the lane. Sad. I miss that “tip tip barsa pani” song. Where is Raveena?

There’s another set of people who have lost their mojo—our farmers. Bollywood always showed farmers waiting for the rains. The first drop of rain, and the farmer and his wife would start traditional dances with drums playing in the background—adorable Radhas and Bhuvans. But today, the day the rains start, farmers are off the field and on the road demanding loan waivers. Well, at least some of them. Is it not time to ask for seeds and fertilizers? Somehow, loans are a priority, I suppose. But I don’t blame them, as the governing leadership has done nothing to cheer them up for threats together. But that’s not my concern. I’m missing the dance of the farmers. Where have they gone? Why isn’t rain bringing happiness to them? Why are they so melancholy? I miss Nargis and Mala Sinha.

The roads turn into Olympic-sized swimming pools. The gutters are overwhelmed and working despite their overinflated tenders and commissions. Actually, the gutters have fallen in love with the road and started flowing on them. The nights are full of bites (from mosquitoes), and the days are rocking with potholes. How can people not get the romance? Why have we become so dull? There’s so much joy around, and we run away to overcrowded Amboli to eat overpriced vada pavs. What’s happening to us? I still miss Sridevi.

Kids turning into little Bollywood stars, waving off their parents like seasoned actors. “Maa, Baba, no need to take us out!” they say, striking dramatic poses. The whole rigmarole of getting dressed, putting on raincoats, getting drenched despite the cover, soaking, shivering—sounds like a monsoon masala movie! Staying at home is the best option. So kids hit the books, channeling their inner Aamir Khan from “Taare Zameen Par,” at least when they’re not down with the viral hits of the season.

Meanwhile, the animal kingdom is throwing its own rain dance party! Snakes slither like they’re auditioning for a Sridevi classic, tadpoles and frogs leap around like they’re extras in a grand musical number, mosquitoes hold their buzzing conferences, and insects of all shapes, colors, and sizes make special guest appearances, like cameos in a blockbuster.

Belagaviites, stop relying on the met department. Instead, they trust their gut instinct—true filmi style. Look up: If you can’t see the sun, grab that umbrella like a prop in a Raj Kapoor rain scene. Clouds or no clouds, it just rains in Belagavi, setting the perfect stage for another monsoon epic!

Life is much like a ride from Jamboti to Peeranwadi. If you want to see beautiful scenes again, you need to reverse your gears. Isn’t stopping the use of plastics, simple households, kitchen gardens, or even walking short distances a little like what we did previously? Something we can do to put our lives in reverse gears. And yet, if I could reverse the clock, I would still see Sridevi and not miss her so much.