Monsoon Wedding

     Reaction to Monsoon Wedding 

     This was my first time watching Monsoon Wedding and I truly enjoyed it. The love and tenderness in each relationship: Lalit and Pimmi, Alice and P.K, Aditi and Hemant fascinated me. I am, however, now obsessed with marigolds; why do Alice and Parabatlal Kanhaiyalal (P.K. Dubey) eat them and if I start eating marigolds, will I find love?  

     I think what I loved most of all was the feelings that this movie brought back to me. I could smell the monsoon rain, feel the heaviness in the air, the anticipation. From my window, I remember watching people wade through the sudden rush of water. I remember my toes dipping into the cool water with each revolution of my bicycle's pedal. Squinting up into the rain; the overhead electrical wires bundle and hang precariously in the wind. 

     I can still feel the energy of the city. The mad and vibrant hustle that made my heart pound so hard I was always conscious of being alive. In truth, I could not sleep at night without a nip of liquid valium which I would purchase from the Chemist on the corner. I remember trying to sort out what a “chemist” shop even was. 

Chemist Shop

     I recall hanging my bag and all of my belongings from wall hooks provided in each of the little rooms I would rent. I had a system... if I had nothing on the floor and if I did not carry any food, the rats would hardly have a reason to rummage around in my (at this point meager) belongings. You see, I am a 'loser' among other things; if my belongings are not physically attached to me chances are that I will not have them for long. It would be in your best interest to never lend me anything. 

     I can feel the cramped roads, the sari shops of Old Delhi and the rituals that go along with it. Cups of chia passed around as silk saris are unfolded and presented. The ISD and STD phone booths, the shaved ice popsicles, the sugar cane and the beautiful street-food. 

Old Delhi

     I can remember the water shortages... not a drop of water from 9am till 4pm or when the power would go out and all of Delhi would be black and quiet. One by one the shops would begin to light candles and there would be peace for only a few moments. I loved those moments and in them the city would slow down, like the dark made every movement as thick as molasses... and when the generators would kick back in, the frantic nature of the city would return.

     The chaos of India has its own rhythm and eventually you begin to beat with it. It is like a song that is stuck in your head, a muscle memory subconsciously engrained; often forgetting it is even there. It just becomes a part of you.

Waiting for my laundry to dry.