So what makes monsoon such a literary season? The introduction to the anthology is brief and describes the build-up to the arrival of rain clouds as “high drama,” with relief written large on every face. Gone is the oppressive heat of the summer and the earth mingles with water, which can sometimes take the form of a deluge.

More than the introduction, I found that the piece by Khushwant Singh captures the mood of monsoon and expresses it perfectly: “Monsoon is not another word for rain,” says Singh, and declares it to be a season. “It is only the nimbused southwest winds of summer that make it a mausem — the season of the rains.” In an extract from his novel Train to Pakistan, which reads like a perfect brief essay, he describes the coming of the rain, the sultry weather before it starts to pour, the patient wait for the first drops which fall just as people begin to lose all hope. This is followed by the joyous relief brought by the first rain, not to forget the havoc and the destruction that takes place before the season changes and gives way to autumn. But then, autumn is another season and another anthology, a book of falling leaves and turning pages.

The high drama of the monsoon season is, of course, entirely Indian (or South Asian, if you will), so it is in the fitness of things that the book is divided into the different regions of the Indian subcontinent, beginning with the South and going on to West, North and East. That each section includes poems, stories and essays is predictable enough, but interspersed among these are also seasonal recipes from each region and a description of seasonal destinations for rain-drenched journeys. So in ‘North’ we come across a recipe for aloo matar ki tikki, credited to the Punjab, but I wonder what its connection to the rains is. While there may be some, I do wonder what happened to the gulgulay, phulki and pakoras commonly associated with dark clouds. How could anybody miss out on the entire pakwaan associated with sawan and barsat?

The choice of monsoon destinations includes, predictably, the “rainfall capital of the world,” Cherrapunji in Meghaliya, declared to be “mandatory on any monsoon-themed itinerary” and promising a sight you will never forget. How I wish this list of rainy destinations had included Thar with the desert transforming through the magic of rain and turning green. Not to forget the savoury dish of kumbh, the mushrooms which grow there after the rains and are cooked as a curry. I have been unable to forget it despite having tasted it many years ago.

Recipes, destinations and festivities are the ground material which holds and connects the poems and stories together. The non-fiction is a mixed bag with travel accounts, a historical remembrance of rains past and journalistic accounts. Begum Jehanara Habibullah recounts the Raj and traditional celebrations followed by a couple of interesting pieces on two celebrated musicians, Begum Akhtar and Bismillah Khan. In the section of Benaras is Kajari, a beautiful example of traditional poetry. However, it reminded me of so many other traditional poems which should have had some representation here. Who can forget a young woman’s painful longing, ‘Amma Meray Bawa Ko Bhejori Kay Sawan Aya,’ and others in the same vein.

The anthology opens with Varuna from the Rig Veda and later on we find Kalidasa’s ‘Meghadutam’. But these come across as wooden, which must be a characteristic of the translations rather than the original. Then there is Tagore and Buddhadeva Bose, and also a delightful extract from Quli Qutub Shah. But I looked in vain for the ever delightful and fun-filled Nazeer Akbarabadi’s ‘Barsaat ki Baharain,’ a unique poem which is one of its kind with its vivid and infectious sense of joy.

I also missed Iqbal’s celebrated description of a dark cloud compared to an elephant on a rampage, which may have originated from Sanskrit. The name of Manoj Das notwithstanding, the stories included here are rather plain and ordinary. I wonder why something from Manto or Krishan Chandra could not be considered. Would Manto’s ‘Boo’ (Odour) qualify as a monsoon story or would it be too sensuous and offend some readers? I also find it difficult to believe that there are no interesting monsoon stories from Hindi or Marathi. Not to forget English — surely there must be some interesting part of a novel from one of the newer novelists who write so well of Indian sights and sounds in English. Perhaps it is really a sign of the book’s success that it leaves you hankering for more.

The reviewer is writer and critic

When Peacocks Dance: Writings on the Monsoon

(Anthology)

Edited by Juhi Sinha

Penguin Books, India

ISBN 9780143420835

226pp.