Teachers' Talk
A PUDDLE OF MEMORIES
Every time the sky bruises into that familiar, heavy shade of slate grey, my mind drifts back to the unburdened afternoons of my college years. There was a particular magic to how the monsoon claimed the city back then with an unapologetic gusto and at the least prepared moment.
I remember those specific afternoons trapped inside the classrooms but my heart was already racing beside the clouds that were slowly gathering at the Western sky. When the ambient light would suddenly die out and a wave of cold damp air rushed in we could no longer be contained within the four walls. We would eagerly look out the windows as the deep, ominous darkness swallowed the midday sun, signaling the arrival of a torrential downpour.
The moment the professor dismissed the class, textbooks were instantly forgotten. An unspoken consensus passed between us: an impromptu rainy day had begun. The torrential downpour didn’t just wash away the oppressive heat and dust; it entirely dissolved the rigid, formal discipline of the campus. No more classes were scheduled. The universe had granted us an afternoon of pure, unadulterated freedom. Thus, without wasting a moment me and my friend used to leave behind our bags and shoes and flew down the stairs in a mad frenzy to surrender ourselves to the torrid shower threatening to erase the familiar landscape of the campus in one fateful afternoon.
We didn’t run for cover; we ran straight toward the storm, spilling out onto the huge campus playground. The vast expanse of earth quickly transformed into a beautiful, chaotic canvas of mud and water. Giant puddles mirrored the dramatic sky above, shattering into thousands of ripples as we tore across the field, singing aloud the most iconic songs dedicated to monsoon.
We danced with reckless abandon, our laughter giving mighty competition to the roaring thunder above. With every flash of lightning that illuminated the field, we felt utterly invincible, catching heavy raindrops in our palms and spinning until we were breathless and soaked to the skin.
Eventually, the wild tempest subsided into a gentle, rhythmic hum—the soothing calm after the storm. Shivering but radiant, we gathered around the rain soaked field sipping hot, ginger-infused tea, watching the quiet puddles on the empty field holding the reflection of a newly cleaned world.
- Mrittika Basu (English Teacher, Senior School)
