It’s that time of year again — when the earth comes alive with the scent of wet mud, and everything slows down just a little. For many of us, the monsoon isn’t just a season — it’s a feeling.
It’s the sound of rain pelting tiled roofs, the joy of biting into a smoky, salted bhutta (corn on the cob) from a roadside cart, the hush of a power cut as the wind whistles through the windows.
These small, quiet joys once made the monsoon magical. And for many parents today, they’re the very moments they long to relive — this time, with their children.
So we at The Better India asked a few parents: What’s that one monsoon memory from your childhood you’d love to experience again — hand in hand with your child?
Setting up pretend idli-dosa shop
Rain in Chennai doesn’t come often — but when it does, it transforms the city into something magical. The streets glisten, the trees look greener, flowers burst with bright colours, and there’s joy in the air.
For 33-year-old Gayathri Tarwady, a mother based in Hyderabad, monsoon brings with it a flood of childhood memories from her home in Chennai.
“The moment it started raining, my sister and I would rush to the backyard and splash around in the puddles,” she recalls with a smile. “Once we were done playing, we’d settle near a window and set up our little pretend idli-dosa stall — using leaves as plates and pebbles as the food. We’d sell them to our imaginary customers, completely immersed in our own world.”
And what was on their plate for real?
Once the backyard idli shop shut for the day, Gayathri says her mother would serve up steaming hot rasam rice with crisp appalams. “That simple lunch tasted extra special on rainy days,” she recalls, “especially after all the pretend cooking we’d just finished!”
She laughs, adding, “That’s one memory I’d love to relive with my five-year-old son, Rudra, today.”
These days, when it rains, Gayathri finds beauty in quieter moments too — like watching the flowers in her garden bloom brighter against the grey skies. “I’d love to capture that with Rudra — take photos at home, soak it all in, and make new monsoon memories together.”
Milagu Kuzhambu, Card Games, and a Wish for One More Day Off
For Chennai-based Charanya, monsoon magic always began with one golden announcement flashing across the TV screen: ‘Schools closed due to rain.’ In that instant, an ordinary weekday turned into a celebration.
“In Chennai, where rainy days are rare and fleeting, they felt even more special,” she shares. “Mornings smelled of wet earth and milagu kuzhambu simmering on the stove — that peppery comfort food every Tamil mum turns to, not just for colds, but to cure everything from sniffles to rainy-day boredom.”
Now a mother herself, Charanya recreates those simple joys with her six-year-old daughter, Ira.
Rainy days are spent indoors painting “masterpieces” no one asked for, flipping through Tinkle and Amar Chitra Katha comics until their eyes grow heavy, and then tucking into hot rice with milagu kuzhambu before a long, cosy afternoon nap.
“As a child, evenings were all about family time — cut-throat card games with hot pakoras and chai on the side,” she recalls fondly. “And then came the most important ritual: a quick visit to the beach to ‘check if the water was OK’ — like we were in charge of tide inspections!” Charanya laughs.
And every rainy night ended the same way — with a quiet little wish whispered into the breeze: “Dear rain gods, please let school be closed tomorrow too.”
Racing to the Marina Beach in an auto
Delhi rains are beautiful — there’s no doubt about that. But every time it rains here, this writer’s heart drifts back to her childhood in Chennai.
Rain in Chennai was never just a passing shower — it usually meant a storm was brewing somewhere over the Bay of Bengal. And whenever that happened, my father would do something unforgettable: he’d hire an autorickshaw and we’d head straight to Marina Beach. Not to escape the rain — but to embrace it.
We’d sit by the shore, watching the grey skies rumble, the sea swell and crash, all while munching on piping hot bhutta — grilled corn on the cob, smeared generously with lemon, salt, and chilli powder, sold right there on the beach. I can still taste the crunch, still feel the chill of the breeze on my face.
The tar roads would be glistening wet, empty except for our auto, speeding through puddles that felt cleaner than they probably were. My favourite part? Leaning out just enough to feel the drizzle prickle against my cheeks — pure joy.
That’s a memory I hold close — one I hope my daughters get to live someday.
Whether it’s Delhi or Chennai, something about the rain pulls me back to nature, to stillness, to wonder. And I truly believe every child should get to feel that magic too.
Slowing down with gupshup and pakoras on the terrace
For Jagriti, some of her most cherished monsoon memories go back to slow, rainy evenings spent with her family on the terrace of their Delhi home.
“We’d all sit together, watching the rain pour down, passing around a plate of hot, crispy pakoras with chutney,” she recalls. “The aroma of freshly fried snacks mixed with the earthy scent of rain-soaked mud — and our terrace would come alive with gupshup (casual conversations) and laughter.”
But for Jagriti, it wasn’t just about the food or the weather — it was about the pause. “Those moments reminded us to slow down, be present, and simply enjoy being together,” she says. “A rare luxury, especially in a city like Delhi where life never seems to stop.”
Now a mother to two-year-old Hetvik, Jagriti hopes to recreate that same quiet magic — sharing snacks, stories, and rainy-day comfort with her little one.
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