Can the monsoon become urban India's hero again?

It had been a week of bad news—of water filling homes, streets, even a presciently named Aqua Line metro station. The early monsoon brought little more than grim headlines of flooding and landslides, like a livestream of the effects of unplanned construction, deforestation and pure apathy.

- SHALINI UMACHANDRAN

It had been a week of bad news—of water filling homes, streets, even a presciently named Aqua Line metro station. The early monsoon brought little more than grim headlines of flooding and landslides, like a livestream of the effects of unplanned construction, deforestation and pure apathy. Until I found myself on the Ooty-Mettupalayam road in Tamil Nadu, following a motorcycle down to the plains.

She rode sidesaddle, like so many women in India, a pillion rider with a baby in one arm and an overstuffed bag on the other shoulder. A light drizzle began to fall; she turned her face up and stuck her tongue out to taste the raindrops. In that moment of abandon and sly pleasure, she wasn't wife or mother or daughter or daughter-in-law, but a person enjoying the sensation of rain.

Summer in India has many moods. There's the oppressive, enveloping humidity of the coastal states, the exhausting and angry heat of north India's plains and the calming, cheery sunshine of the hills. No matter what kind of summer it's been, the rain brings its own shift in mood and a sense of languid serenity and hope. We settle in with spiced chai and warm snacks, sniff the moisture in the air, smile at the touch of cool breeze against the skin, and marvel at a sky that's suddenly lost the sharp brightness that made our eyes throb.