Singin’ in the Rain

              

It is that time of the year when everyone who is anyone starts talking about the rains. A date has been set for the monsoons to hit our shores. The boffins at the meteorological department look at their wall calendars, with some trepidation, close their eyes and stab a forefinger somewhere on the sheet displaying the month of June. On opening their eyes and inspecting the location of their forefinger, they declare with much fanfare, ‘June 7^th!’ They call in all the press and television channels and make the announcement. Those in the state of Kerala, also known as ‘God’s Own Country,’ gird up their loins, hold their collective breath and wait for the moisture to break over their coast – the first port of call. June 7^th comes and goes and no sign of rain. The only moisture visible comes from the perspiration oozing from the populace caused by the extreme humidity of that very moist state. There is a bright side to this, apart from all the lush greenery. Sales of raincoats and umbrellas in Kerala go through the roof, even if the roofs themselves have yet to display the least sign of damp or leaks.

The late, much loved British humour columnist (he wrote a column a day for over 30 years) Miles Kington had this to say about the rains, ‘Yes, that’s right. Rain. The wet stuff that falls from the sky and later clears from the west. The liquid that comes in under doors or on cats and dogs. The magic stuff that makes taxis impossible to find. The only thing that can make cricketers run.’ Kington was talking about English rains, which tend to be gentle for the most part, though cricketers and tennis players do run for cover whenever there is a ‘sharp shower’ only to be followed immediately by glorious sunshine. Yes, yes, I am fully aware of the state-of-the-art roof covering on Centre Court and Court No.1 at Wimbledon, but even they take a goodish time to make their leisurely way over the courts.

 Even Shakespeare, who likes to muscle in on any conversation, while mulling over the quality of mercy, decided to introduce rain into the subject. ‘The q of m is not strained; it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven / upon the place beneath.’ Setting aside for the moment that the rain can, by definition, only fall beneath, one must give it to the Bard that he had the nous to bracket rain with mercy, and had people quoting him centuries later. Even if they were not completely certain what he meant by it.

The word gentle does not quite cut it when we talk of monsoon rains in India. As I had indicated earlier, even our experts may not be able to predict with complete accuracy the precise date of the arrival of the monsoon. However, when it does arrive, it does not mess about. Nothing gentle about it. It arrives with a ferocity that strikes terror amongst those who live in coastal areas. Fishermen in their rickety boats, ever after being warned, insist on pursuing their livelihoods in the high seas and end up paying a heavy price, often with their lives. Not that our urbanites are spared from the rain’s ravages. Our metropolitan cities, still struggling with drainage systems installed by the British two hundred years ago, reel under severe floods. People living in ground floor apartments are often forced to move upstairs to their neighbours’ flats for succour. Images of floating animal carcasses are a commonplace. Rescue teams arrive in their rubber dinghies but theirs is often an uphill (or upstream) task. Funny thing, rains. You send up prayers to the rain gods when the sun beats down unrelentingly on the parched earth, and when the gods finally oblige and turn up the shower heads full blast, they don’t quite know when to stop. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

Speaking for myself, at times like this I turn to music. With a mug of hot cocoa. Not quite from the legendary Tansen’s catalogue, a man who could reputedly produce heavy clouds and searing fire merely by essaying certain ragas that pleased those respective gods. I have a list of popular songs, culled mostly from my school days, which I start warbling to myself whenever the weather puts me in mind of those compositions. Here is a brief selection from a huge library of songs extolling (or not) the virtues of rainy days.

 A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall. When Nobel Laureate Bob Dylan wrote and performed this iconic song in 1963, the experts were of the firm view that he was making a veiled reference to a nuclear fallout. Dylan vehemently denied it, claiming it was merely a song about heavy rains, tongue probably firmly in his cheek. There were not too many takers for the singer-songwriter’s simplistic interpretation. Bob Dylan never wrote anything for the literal-minded.

Singin’ in the Rain. Gene Kelly’s eponymous song from the 1952 film of the same name has been on everybody’s lips for over 70 years. Add to the song, Kelly’s unique dance steps with his unfurled brolly inspired even our own legend Raj Kapoor to doff his hat in salutation to Kelly in his classic film Shree 420 to the evergreen hit Pyar hua ikraar hua. More recently, popular Tamil comedian Vadivelu murdered the song in a stomach-churning rendition in the film Manadhai Thirudivittai (You stole my heart). Enough said.

Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head. If B.J. Thomas was known for no other song, he will forever be remembered for rendering this melodic, hummable number from the soundtrack of the 1969 mega hit, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, starring Paul Newman and Robert Redford. Picturised on Newman and his heroine Katherine Ross, riding away on a bicycle into the sunset, strangely on a perfectly clear, rainless day, giving us one of the memorable scenes from this film.

Have You Ever Seen the Rain? Creedence Clearwater Revival had a huge hit with this song in 1970. The lyrics were predictable but the tune was so catchy, everyone was singing or humming it at the time. Someone told me long ago / There’s a calm before the storm / I know/ It’s been comin’ for some time / I want to know, have you ever seen the rain / Comin’ down on a sunny day?

Crying in the Rain. Composed by the peerless Carole King, the song was a huge hit in 1960 for The Everly Brothers. The lyrics are mushy, the way they liked it those days, but the tune was an absolute winner. If I wait for cloudy skies / You won’t know the rain from the tears in my eyes / You’ll never know that I still love you so / Though the heartaches remain / I’ll do my cryin’ in the rain.

Rainy Days and Mondays. The sibling duo, Karen and Richard, aka The Carpenters had a string of hit releases during the 60s and 70s, none more popular than Rainy Days and Mondays. Talkin’ to myself and feelin’ old / Sometimes I’d like to quit / Nothin’ ever seems to fit / Hangin’ around / Nothin’ to do but frown / Rainy days and Mondays always get me down. Mondays are a bummer but I am quite okay with rainy days.

Just Walkin’ in the Rain. Only a handful of diehards in India remember Johnny Ray, but he sang this lovely song to the top of the charts in 1956. Just walkin’ in the rain / Getting soaking wet / Torturing my heart / By trying to forget. Poor old Johnny might have been nursing some secret sorrow, but he left us a song to recall fondly when the rains visit us.

That should do it for now, methinks. There are many more songs about rain, but I shall be guilty of overkill. Dear reader, you can add your own favourites to the theme. One thing strikes me about all these songs. It does not seem to matter much whether it is actually raining or not, so long as some kind of nostalgic love angle can be introduced in the lyrics and the tune sticks in your head. You can then sit on your window sill with that mug of cocoa. And reflect on why the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.