The article critiques the monsoon's disruptive behavior, likening its erratic nature and severe flooding to a lack of civic sense and manners. It contrasts present-day monsoons, which expose shoddy infrastructure and are worsened by public littering, with a nostalgic view of gentler, more inspiring seasonal rains. The piece emphasizes how the monsoon's unpredictable arrival and departure, alongside its destructive force, reflect broader societal issues of civic responsibility and poor urban planning.

The article critiques the monsoon's disruptive behavior, likening its erratic nature and severe flooding to a lack of civic sense and manners. It contrasts present-day monsoons, which expose shoddy infrastructure and are worsened by public littering, with a nostalgic view of gentler, more inspiring seasonal rains. The piece emphasizes how the monsoon's unpredictable arrival and departure, alongside its destructive force, reflect broader societal issues of civic responsibility and poor urban planning.

The article critiques the monsoon's disruptive behavior, likening its erratic nature and severe flooding to a lack of civic sense and manners. It contrasts present-day monsoons, which expose shoddy infrastructure and are worsened by public littering, with a nostalgic view of gentler, more inspiring seasonal rains. The piece emphasizes how the monsoon's unpredictable arrival and departure, alongside its destructive force, reflect broader societal issues of civic responsibility and poor urban planning.

IT’S TIME WE had a talk with the monsoon about matters of civic sense and common manners. First, the rains show up late, triggering galloping anxiety in millions of people nervously going through their daily ablutions, uncertain if the taps would run dry mid-sentence. At long last, when they do come, they are all over the place, like Indian tourists at a buffet breakfast table. Tch, tch, bad form!

They also exhibit some of the classic signs of insecurity—the compulsive urge to grab attention and stay in the news as long as possible. That explains recurring episodes of posh city centres going underwater, cars turning into submarines, hillsides being ripped apart, and rivers hovering tantalisingly above the danger mark. Those who just the other day had been praying to be spared a drought are now swept off their feet by a deluge.

I yearn for gentler times. I recall the good old days when mild-mannered monsoons would awaken our inner Kalidasa, prompting us to marvel at the wonders unfolding before us. Clouds would consort with suspended moisture to turn the skies into an art gallery. Palm fronds laden with raindrops would glisten cheerily in the sun. And the ground, heavy in moist earth, would fill the air with a fragrance unique to the season. All this came with a captivating soundtrack! From the early call of the koel to nights alive with the insect orchestra led by crickets (friends, that was the pre-cockroach era), it was a delight to the ears.

Instead of staying happy as a curator of such art, the monsoon now seems to be exploring more high-profile career options. It has begun to fancy itself as an expert who can give municipal authorities a ‘crash’ course in construction. You think this bridge and that tunnel are sturdy because they were inaugurated by hon’ble ministers just last week? But the monsoon believes innovative contractors substituted cement with sand, bright paint and a wink to the municipal official. Want to know the truth? The first rains will tell us. CRASH! There you are! Highways turn into slop and our showpiece structures begin to spout embarrassing leaks.

Gen Z has made a hue and cry about leaks. All the other Gen kept quiet, but we know who is really to blame—the monsoon of course. The decent thing to do would have been to take the officials involved aside and point out the error of their ways. Instead, we have a public spectacle of their shortcomings. Shocking manners!

It’s not just civic officials who are in the dock, we have all got targets on our backs. Being more a littering society than a literate one, we have been benignly casting into the great outdoors the things we don’t need—old plastic bags, rubber tubing, thermocol, unused odds and ends, flotsam, jetsam and then some. Just when we thought we had got rid of it all, flooding brings it right back for an unsolicited déjà vu.

Finally, in all good things, there is the question of duration. In domestic interactions, there will come a time when even the most dutiful hosts begin furtively looking for clues about when the guests would depart. This monsoon gives no such helpful hint. Like its arrival, its departure too remains shrouded in clouds of uncertainty.

Manners make the man, and the monsoon.

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