Despite all of this, the truth is that the monsoons in India are much awaited. For the farmers, they are critical for the crops. And for the rest of the people, reeling under the heat of summer, the first drops of rain are a much-awaited relief. In Indian lore, the monsoons are an intrinsic part of romance, of reawakening, of rejuvenation and of the renewal of life itself. If in the West, a beautiful day should be sunny, for us a romantic day is when the clouds have hidden the sun, and there is the promise of cool breeze and rain. This is the time when lovers rekindle their romance, and if separated, yearn to be together.

In the lore of Radha and Krishna, the monsoons are very much a part of their love. Bihari, the 17th-century poet, has these lines to describe the agony of Radha separated from Krishna when it begins to rain:

Lagey saawan maas bidesh piya

Morey ang pe boond pare sarsi

Shath kaam ne jor kiyo sajni

Bandh toot gaye chatiya darsi

(The monsoons are here but my beloved is away

A raindrop touches my body suddenly

Cruel Kama wrought his effect, O friend

The strings holding my breasts snapped abruptly)

Clouds have always been a part of our literary tradition. In the fifth century CE, the poet Kalidasa in his play Meghdoot, immortalized one such cloud by making it the bearer of the exiled Yaksha’s message to his wife, Alaka, in the Himalayas. In more recent times, who can ever forget the song Zindagi bhar nahin bhoolegi woh barsaat ki raat (Never can I forget that monsoon night), from the eponymous film Barsaat Ki Raat, where the beautiful Madhubala meets Bharat Bhushan on a rain-filled night? Or Raj Kapoor and Nargis, singing Pyaar hua ikraar hua, in the 1955 film Shree 420, with the rain cascading around them as they come closer to share an umbrella?

The great poet Faiz paid his tribute to the enticements of the rains in his own inimitable way:

Aaye kuch abr, kuch sharaab aaye

Uske baad jo azaab aaye

(Let there be clouds, and let some wine come

After that let any punishment come)

On my farm in Gurgaon, near Delhi, I recently built a wide verandah. One day when it was raining, my wife and I drove to the farm to watch the rain pour down from all sides as we sipped a cup of tea sitting there, with garam garam pakodas (piping hot pakodas) to munch and listening to the classical raga Malhar playing in the background. It was an ethereal experience. Every time I listen to Malhar during the monsoons, I wonder afresh at the genius of our musical legacy. How can a raga correspond so beautifully to the mood of the monsoons? As the sky began to darken, we listened first to the slow elaboration of the raga, and then as it poured, we sat mesmerized by the fast-paced drut of the composition. There are many variations of the Malhar, but my favourite is Gaud Malhar, on which the unforgettable song from Barsaat Ki Raat is based: Garjat barsat sawan aayo re.

Even Maryada Purushottam Ram, so different from the romantic, playful Krishna, became emotional during the monsoons. Tulsidas in the Ramcharitmanas writes at length about the monsoons. As Ram and Lakshman search for Sita abducted by Ravana, it begins to rain, and in the words of Tulsi, Ram says to Lakshman:

Ghana ghamanda nabha garjat gora

Priya heen darapata mana mora

(See, how the clouds in the sky thunder

Bereft of Sita, my heart is all aflutter)

The last Moghul king, Bahadur Shah Zafar, made an important addition to the Red Fort. These were two beautiful pavilions for the monsoon months, one called Saawan, and the other Bhadon, facing each other across a garden. Here he would sit when it rained, perhaps with a glass of wine, as musicians played Malhar and maybe a courtesan danced to its rhythm.

It is ironic that today that the Yamuna, which earlier flowed right next to the Red Fort, has overflowed its banks and reached the palace again.

This has, indeed, caused great misery to the people living in low-lying areas adjoining the river, which is tragic. And yet, for all of this, the monsoons will remain a pivotal part of our lives. The lines of the poet Qateel Shifai come to my mind:

Yun barasti hain tasawwur pe purani yaadein

Jaise barsaat ki rim jhim mein sama hota hai

(Old memories rain down on me

Just like the mood a drizzle evokes)

Pavan K Varma is author, diplomat, and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha).

Just Like That is a weekly column where Varma shares nuggets from the world of history, culture, literature, and personal reminiscences with HT Premium readers

The views expressed are personal