The Day the Rains Arrive
🗓 posted Jun 24, 2026 by Josh Erb🔢 878 words
🏷 #life #travel #mumbai
In order to understand the feeling of the first days of monsoon in Mumbai, you have to understand all the days that came before. Mumbai's weather comes in fairly predictable batches. From the end of the previous monsoon, which is around October, until March the temperature dips into the cooler ranges (by Mumbai standards), pollution season follows shortly after in December and lasts until around March, and from March until the arrival of the monsoon the city swelters with unbearable heat and humidity.
In all this time, it doesn't rain. I never have to check a weather app or lug an umbrella around with me. I don't have to worry about dressing in layers or wearing shoes instead of sandals. My biggest concern is how visible the inevitable pools of sweat will look on my t-shirt. Everything outside at ground-level is covered with the dust and grime of the pollution season.
This year the monsoon arrived later than expected. We had a few false starts, two brief thunderstorms that came and went in the blink of an eye earlier in the month. The part of the city I live in is all concrete. The high temperatures of +94°F are made worse by rampant heat sinks. Walking outside of an air conditioned apartment feels like being ambushed by a band of thugs who wrap a warm, damp towel around you. Our apartment building only air conditions the common areas during the morning and evening rush hours, which don't match my personal schedule, so whenever I take our dog down for a walk or leave to run an errand I wallow in the stagnant, heavy air of Mumbai summer that's been trapped indoors.
The heat of Mumbai summer is damp, which makes it oppressive in a way I've only ever experienced once before on Mexico's gulf coast. It's not the sort of dry heat that makes your throat scratchy. It's not characterized by absence in the same way. It's hard to reconcile knowledge of water scarcity with the fact that everything constantly feels damp. I've learned that my body consistently sweats if there is more than 30% humidity in the air. Washington, DC had hot and humid summers during the 10 years I lived there, and maybe a day or two in the summer months would come close to feeling like this, but the oppression comes from the languid consistency. The conditions stretch on for weeks and months with little to no variation.
Before the rain finally came yesterday, the city of Mumbai had been under a water shortage for +4 days. I'd just received notice from the property managers that we were advised to conserve as much water as possible. The building was doing it's best to supplement its water reserves with paid water tanker services, but if conditions continued they would not be able to keep up with demand.
When the rain comes after all these months of endless waiting, it feels like the city is exhaling a breath that it's held so long the air has gone stale. It's a catharsis you can see with your eyes, feel on your skin, and recognize in the faces of all the people you see. Yesterday, the rains had lightly started during the day and I went to a dinner with some friends, when we came out the restaurant the downfall had grown heavier and patrons leaving and patrons waiting for a table intermingled as we all huddled together under a small awning and the heavy thuds of the long awaited rain beat above our heads. "As much of an inconvenience as it can be," a friend in the group said, "I have to admit, I love the monsoon."
Of course, rains after so many dry months are bound to cause significant problems. Any mumbaikar you talk to will mention the "first waters" with a cautionary tone. Floods are inevitable and expected throughout different parts of the city. In these early days, as the waters rise and sweep up all the dust and detritus of the long preceding months, they swirl it together in toxic pools that can come up to your knees. The danger comes from the fact that the rising waters typically don't stop daily life of the city, much in the same way that heavy snow fall rarely slows down Chicago or Minneapolis. If a street is flooded by rainwater you will still see cars, scooters, pedestrians, cows, and auto-rickshaws moving through it, doing their best to stick to the day's routine.
From last year's experience, I know that monsoon carries its own psychological challenges. These long awaited rains quickly outstay their welcome. The sky will be darkened and gray from now until later in October. It begins to drain the color out of daily life, everything seems gray and wet and I can't help thinking that maybe it will stay this way forever.
After four or so months of constant rain, when the sun emerges from behind the clouds and its heat causes the waters to recede, I will greet it enthusiastically as a long overdue friend.
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