While rain in the monsoon season has become a regular feature in Karachi, the city has rarely experienced a full-blooded monsoon season with rainfall through July, August, September and the finale in October which, in my birth city (Pune) is called the Elephant downpour because the thunder sounds like the trumpeting of the pachyderm. That ends the season with a dramatic flourish.
The true characteristic of the monsoon is the continuous drizzle, a fine light rain that goes on and on without a break for weeks, becoming a bit faster or a bit slower but never ending. I have attempted to explain this phenomenon to the generation born in Karachi and to friends who do not come from the monsoon belt of the sub-continent.
They do not comprehend because they judge a drizzle by what they experience in Karachi, and so do not rate the fine continuous rain as at all important. To them rain means raining cats and dogs creating a deluge and the problems of overflowing drains, flooded roads and traffic jams and, of course power outage. To them rain means life comes to a standstill. They cannot comprehend how anybody would go to school or to work, or have a wedding or a birthday party while it was raining. That is the aspect of life in the monsoon belt I have found impossible to explain also. When all explanations eared only blank looks my final suggestion was they should make a trip to any city on the Western Ghats in the monsoon to know first hand what I am talking about.
Finally last week they were able to get a foretaste of the true characteristic of the monsoon season as, from the evening of Monday through Tuesday it drizzled continuously. Yet on Tuesday people set out to work, to school, the delivery vans arrived with goods for the two general stores in my commercial area.
The reason I have had to explain the continuous drizzle so often to Karachiites is because, when I am asked to say something in Marathi I usually recite the nursery rhyme about the rain which begins "Ye re, ye re paoosa..." and translate as I go Since the first line means "Come O, come, rain" I am promptly asked to explain what sort of madness is it to invite rainfall; no Karachiite would ever do so, they say, with a huff. In the monsoon belt rain does not fall as soon as the rain clouds form, so children all over Maharashtra invite the rain to fall, promising to give it a paisa. The greedy clouds burst and the children laugh and say "but the paisa is (unfortunately) a dud."
The rhyme describes various types of rainfall. Explanations have to be given along with the translation for every line of the rhyme. The first type of rain described is the few raindrops falling "rim jhim jhim" which merely dampens the courtyard. Isn't a drizzle? Ask the Karachiites. No, I tell them. The next is the downpour and it is this rain that turns the rice fields green. At least the Karachiites do not ask or argue about the downpour. The next is the drizzle called "siree" in Marathi. This is when there are hot objections and arguments and incomprehension as to why the rim jhim jhim rain is not a drizzle and what is so special about a drizzle that it features in the monsoon nursery rhyme, and so on.
Last week's drizzle, in my opinion, puts Karachi firmly in the monsoon belt. This situation has been developing over the years because nearly every year now we have showers in the Monsoon season. At least one or two good downpours every year indicate there is definitely a climate change. Previously, Karachi undoubtedly was in the arid zone. There used to be decades without rain, let alone years. It is the reason why Karachi was never prepared for the monsoon. When annual rain began to visit the city, it naturally created more problems and havoc. It is not surprising, therefore, that most Karachiites hate rain and look at us who love rain as if we were heartless folk who ought to be shunted out of the city.
Although rain-induced problems continue to harass Karachiites, one cannot say any longer that the whole city lands into Noah's Flood. It has taken more than five years since the last deluge to put in the storm drains, clean the drains clogged with refuse and some housing societies, like the Clifton Cantonment and DHA, have suction pumps and huge tankers mounted on vehicles to drain stagnant rainwater.
Gradually all rain-related problems will be solved and Karachiites will love the monsoon. An English poet described the monsoon as God's gift of waters and asked what have we ever done to deserve this gift. England is a damp and dreary land but the rain there did not evoke such a passionate poem. I hope some day in the near future Karachiites will agree with the poet that the monsoon is indeed God's gift of water.