Super El Niño was supposed to disrupt India’s southwest monsoon, causing severe rainfall deficits, delayed sowing, prolonged dry spells, and soaring temperatures. These conditions threatened widespread agricultural drought, depleted reservoirs, reduced rural incomes, and spiked food and dairy inflation. However, the situation turned out to be quite different than expected. Where India was supposed to experience a dry spell, it has surprisingly seen a 95% cloud coverage all over the country thereby witnessing a rather unusual weather pattern.
This might appear contradictory, but the meteorologists assure otherwise. The explanation lies in the difference between the large-scale climate drivers that influence weather over months and regional atmospheric drivers that influence weather over the course of a few days. During the normal or La Niña years, warm waters in the western Pacific and Indian Ocean promote rising warm, moisture-laden air over South Asia, supporting the Indian monsoon. However, during El Niño, the warmest ocean waters shift eastwards towards South America. As the center of rising air moves away from Asia, descending dry air becomes more dominant over the Indian subcontinent, suppressing cloud formation and rainfall over the course of the monsoon season.
This year, a well-marked upper air cyclonic circulation over the west- central Bay of Bengal has created a low-pressure area near the Odisha- West Bengal coast. These systems are linked to the monsoon trough which has gone back to its usual position across the Indo Gangetic Plains after remaining in the unusually far north for several days. Hence, although the Super El Niño would have likely created dry spells, the low air pressure that has created an enormous moisture transport mechanism, drawing humid air from both the Bay of Bengal and the Arabian Sea. The result has been a widespread cloud formation all over the country. However, as a recent weather update suggests, the El Niño may return by this weekend after the cloud band dissipation.
The sudden burst of monsoon in West Bengal has rewritten the monsoon script and while it can be a joyous spectacle while sitting at home, it does come with its own set of menace. The erratic, concentrated rain bursts and initial delays have disrupted Aman paddy, a major winter rice crop grown during the monsoon season in Eastern India and Bangladesh transplantation were delayed and uneven early monsoon cycles pushed back the traditional rice transplantation calendar in districts like Paschim Medinipur, raising input and groundwater irrigation cost for farmers. Sudden heavy downpours and lightning in South Bengal has caused waterlogging and the damage of vulnerable summer vegetables and field crops. Sub- Himalayan regions have faced intense rain spells leading to the danger of mudslides, water accumulation and the damage of crops like banyan and papaya. Waterlogging in the urban and rural areas can give birth to diseases like malaria and dengue and even contaminate freshwater which can lead to various waterborne diseases.
A typical monsoon day in Kolkata
For a long time, monsoon has been a favorite season for the people living in the city.
When I was a little child, monsoon used to be my favorite season as well. The petrichor that filled the air before the rain hit the ground, the greyish atmosphere and the intense thunder and lightning made the day thrilling and brought a sense of calm at the same time. During the light drizzles, I would run to the terrace and enjoy the first drops of rain on my face. As the minutes passed and the fall of the raindrops became increasingly intense, the neighbors’ children would come up to their terrace, and we all collectively jumped around and enjoyed getting drenched. The first sound of thunder would accompany the voices of our mothers calling us down. Once I got down, my mother would instruct me to take a shower otherwise there was a very real chance that I would get sick. After the shower, a hot lunch was laid out accompanied by a sound afternoon nap. As the evening descended, the rain would continue to increase its force, resulting in a power cut. The water that clogged the streets refused to go down, inviting the occasional grumblings of the passersby. My father somehow managed to bring in hot cutlets from the nearby shop, my mother made tea for all of us and we would sit in a circle with them telling me stories about monsoon in their childhood which would inevitably turn into horror stories very soon and hence kept me awake all night long, listening closely to the sound of the thunder and looking out for any dark figure that might appear in my room.
When I was 5 years old, my grandfather taught me how to make paper boats. I used to sit staring at the sky waiting for it to rain, not having any particular sense of weather at that age. I would pray for it to rain heavily and for the streets to clog with water so that I could make my paper boat and float it on the water clogged streets. This little habit continued for years. Then when the lights went out due to the incessant rain and thunder, my great grandmother used to light up her kerosene lantern. That lantern is the single most fascinating thing that I have ever come across in my life. The way she carefully placed the wick so that the lantern glowed perfectly and for the longest time possible. Her room was lit up in the warmest way possible. Once the figures in the room were visible enough and the shadows on the walls settled down, she sat telling me stories of her childhood, her home back in Bangladesh and her long gone family.
Everytime it rains, I somehow find myself looking out of the window with a cup of coffee in my hand, reminiscing about my childhood days. The rain brings back what the mind forgets but the heart remembers.
Now I look at the heavy rain and frown because the thought of getting drenched in the rain just to take public transport to commute to my university makes the monsoon a little less romantic for me. Now that I see the colorful umbrellas that I used to enjoy looking at from the top of the terrace, I see tired and angry faces beneath them, definitely not enjoying the weather. However, I still love the petrichor that fills the air, I still enjoy the wind that carries the grey clouds above me. I still enjoy every bit of it and maybe the grudge takes birth from the fact that I never get to sit and take it all now like I used to. Perhaps that is the very thing about growing up, the magic slowly fades from everything.
The gloomy weather does not stop the city from coming alive. Even during heavy downpours, people sit at their homes and feast on the special monsoon dishes. The smell of the ilish maach or the Hilsa fish fills the rooms as the radio plays a 90s Bollywood number like Kishore Kumar’s Rimjhim Gire Sawan.
There is something so much poetic about monsoon in the ‘City of Joy’, the rain drumming on the roofs of the yellow taxis, the colorful umbrellas bobbing up on the wet lanes, the smell of the fresh earth rising from the ground and the greyish hue covering the entire city like a huge blanket. Kolkata knows how to live even when it pours.
Waking up to the sound of heavy rain and grueling thunder is the sweetest noise to the ears of the children. It inevitably means three things- missing school for and having hot khichudi or hotchpotch for lunch and last but not the least, an amazing afternoon nap.
As soon as the rain comes to a momentary halt, the bulbs on top of the house entrances light up as evening slowly descends on the city. The walls of the households’ echo with the sound of the ghonta or the ritual bell being rung by the women of the house for the shondhe aroti or the offering of prayer to the almighty at the descending of the dusk. The by- lanes slowly get filled with the echoing voice of the grandfathers sitting at the nearby tea stall, sipping a cup of hot tea and debating on either football or reminiscing over the good old days. The otherwise gloomy streets come alive again, children slowly make their way out of their homes and begin their ritualistic play time.
No one pays much heed to the puddles or the occasional drizzle; people go out and about enjoying the pleasant weather accompanied by the romantic setting of the iconic Princep Ghat with a cup of Lebu chaa or lemon tea and reminisce about the bygone days. In another part of the city, the Victoria Memorial turns lush and vibrant under the heavy- rain washed skies while lovers walk around hand in hand on its grounds while their shadow carved by the lights of the monument follows them closely behind.
As Bengal continues to get drenched in the rain with occasional glimmers of the sunlight, it is difficult to say whether this will go on to become a new normal for the upcoming monsoons in Bengal or it will stand out as just another weather anomaly. Whatever it might be, it does not do away with the fact that although Bengal has averted the intense heat waves of the Super El Niño which would have come with its own share of adversaries, the sudden burst of monsoon in Bengal, apart from giving the people a relief from the heat, did create enough havoc for people.
Kolkata’s age-old love affair with monsoon continues as it reminds one’s heart of Rabindranath Tagore’s famous lines, Aaji Jhoro Jharo Mukharo Badorodine which translates to, “On this rainy day, alive with the sound of pouring rain..”,
recalling once again that the rain is just another love language for the City of Joy.
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