Monsoon Clouds - 2. When Dreams Began to Bloom
Chapter 2: When Dreams Began to Bloom
2.1 New City
It was 6:30 in the evening. By that time every day, Amma would start waiting for Dad’s arrival. I think I inherited this habit from her — you could almost guess Dad’s arrival just by looking at Amma’s face. Today, her face was brighter than usual, and the reason was clear: a sweet packet in Dad’s hand.
In our house, sweets on the first of every month meant Salary Day. But if he brought them in between, it meant some special good news. Amma, a typical Indian homemaker, never questioned Dad, but always waited patiently until he spoke. She took his office bag and lunchbox from his hands, just as she did every morning and evening when he left for work or returned. It always amused me — a man who could carry the burden of the entire family somehow needed Amma to carry his bag and lunchbox.
I walked in
with a glass of water as Dad settled in the hall. Amma and I sat eagerly,
waiting for him to share something, while Ravi, as usual, was buried in his
studies, uninterested in these little family dramas. Dad noticed the excitement
on our faces and said with a smile,
“I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?”
Amma and I exchanged glances, and I quickly replied, “Good news first.”
Dad announced, “I got a promotion… one that was pending for a long time.”
Amma’s face lit up as if she had won an Oscar. I couldn’t control myself — I shouted and jumped with joy. Even Ravi, disturbed from his studies, came rushing to the hall. When he heard the news, a smile appeared on his face too.
But then Dad reminded us, “The bad news is still pending.”
We fell silent, waiting. Dad continued, “I got transferred to Hyderabad.”
He paused, watching our faces carefully. For him, this was the “bad news.” But Amma smiled, and I burst into laughter, hiding my face on her shoulder. Ravi, who had just entered midway, looked confused, like a student facing an out-of-syllabus physics problem.
Dad looked surprised, “Are you not sad about leaving this town?”
Amma responded warmly, “We are happy wherever you are. And it’s even better — Ravi can join a good college in the city, Rekha can pursue her degree there, and above all, it’s the same city where Rama Rao is staying. What more do we need?”
Rama Rao uncle had joined Dad’s office on the very same day years ago, and from that time, they had become closer than brothers. A few years earlier, he was transferred to Hyderabad, and since then, he had been trying hard to get Dad transferred too. Talented and resourceful, Rama Rao uncle knew how to get things done. We all guessed he had a hand in Dad’s promotion as well, since he worked at the head office.
Revathi aunty, his wife, was Amma’s best friend, and Sandhya — their daughter — was mine. Likewise, Ravi and their son Satish were close friends too. Both families were so perfectly in tune that when we met, we often forgot about lunch or dinner. Every member was equally comfortable with the others. Those were golden days when both families lived in the same town: Dad and uncle going to office together, Amma and aunty spending their time at home, while we children went to school together. Remembering those times made the news of shifting to Hyderabad feel exciting rather than sad.
Dad dialed Rama Rao uncle. The first word from the other side was “Congrats!” Such was their bond — as if they could read each other’s hearts. Rama Rao uncle already knew about the transfer order. Dad continued talking, while Amma and I went into the kitchen to prepare tea and snacks. Ravi quietly slipped back to his room, satisfied that he had spent enough time in the family gathering.
By the time we returned with tea, Dad was summarizing the call. Rama Rao uncle had already finalized a house just a few blocks away from theirs, planning to pay the advance the next day. Revathi aunty had even started getting the house cleaned and arranged, showing how excited they were for our arrival.
That night, packing began. Transfer meant the toughest of jobs — sorting things out. The biggest debate was always: “Keep or trash?” After long discussions, some items went in, some went out. Ravi, however, was least bothered. He had already discussed with Satish and decided on a college that also provided IIT training, so he was busy only with his books and clothes.
Amma and I handled the most challenging part — the kitchen. I’ve always believed every woman deserves an award for the way she packs kitchen items during a move. We worked tirelessly through the day, and still some items remained scattered. Dad couldn’t extend his leave much, as he had office formalities to complete.
Relatives and friends invited us for lunches and dinners to bid farewell, but with so much left to pack, we had to postpone those visits for the next trip.
Leaving a place where you spend your childhood is like leaving behind a part of yourself. Amma and I shed enough tears over those two days to fill two buckets. Every visit to the market, school, or hospital reminded us of our memories tied to them. You don’t realize the value of a place while you live there, but when you prepare to leave, its importance strikes deep in your heart.
Finally, the day came. With heavy hearts, we began our journey to the new city, a new house, and new people. The entire street filled with relatives, friends, and even curious onlookers who came to bid us farewell. In the middle of so many well-wishers, we left — leaving behind our memories.
We hired a cab to carry all valuable and fragile items with us, instead of sending them with the transport. Dad felt it was safer to travel in the day, so we could handle things carefully and avoid risks. Along the way, we stopped for food and short breaks, all the while reminiscing about the town we left behind and dreaming about the life awaiting us in Hyderabad. Engrossed in past and future, the journey itself passed in no time.
* * *
2.2 The Wonder City
As we entered Hyderabad, I eagerly looked out at the roads, buildings, and people. Everything appeared so new, so special — as if the city was welcoming me. Though I had visited a couple of times earlier for vacations, this time felt different. Back then, I was just a visitor. Now, it felt like my city. I was excited, like Alice stepping into a wonderland.
My daydream was interrupted by loud shouts, hugs, and laughter. We had reached Rama Rao uncle’s home, and the joy on both families’ faces was priceless. Age didn’t matter — they were shouting and laughing like children at a school reunion. We greeted each other over and over, repeating the hugs and handshakes, yet none of us could stop. Even the cab driver, standing patiently, seemed amused at our drama. Once we realized his presence, we shifted our luggage inside, paid the fare along with a tip, and he left with a big smile — happy with the gesture and relieved to escape our noisy reunion.
Rama Rao uncle lived in a rented 2BHK on the first floor. The house reflected Revathi aunty’s skill in managing every corner with care. Their landlords, the Agarwal family, welcomed us warmly too. With their shops in the city and their friendly nature, they promised to help us settle in. Sandhya proudly showed me her room. It carried a mix of her mother’s neatness and her own teenage carelessness — ear studs scattered here, books lying around — yet it felt warm and lively. Ravi and Satish quickly found their corner, and the seniors engaged in their own conversations. Amma entered our room with coffee, and soon Revathi aunty joined. The four ladies began their endless talk — about sarees, movies, serials, relatives, neighbors, and of course, a generous sprinkle of gossip. We had planned to see our new house that evening, but between travel tiredness and this lively chatter, the visit was postponed.
Dinner turned out to be a feast. Within a short time, both mothers had prepared several delicious dishes. Our hearts were already full of joy, but the aroma of homemade food made us eat more. Conversation flowed continuously — during cooking, dinner, and long after. That night, the ladies all slept in one room, the boys in Satish’s room, and the “gentlemen” got the master bedroom. Even though travel had exhausted us, Sandhya and I couldn’t resist bedtime chatter until we drifted off without realizing when.
I woke up to Amma shaking me gently. Still disoriented, I looked around at Sandhya’s room and remembered — this was my new city. Amma had already bathed, cooked breakfast, and moved on with her routine. Sandhya, on the other hand, was sprawled across the bed. Relieved that I wasn’t the last to wake up, I shook her hard until she opened her eyes in the same half-dreaming confusion. Slowly, she too realized I wasn’t a guest anymore — I had shifted here.
After breakfast, we set out to our new home. It was just a street away, within walking distance. The compound was filled with trees and flowering plants, giving the place a serene touch. Our landlord, Sharma garu, a retired railway employee, and his wife, Savitri amma, greeted us warmly. Their sons lived in the US, but the elderly couple preferred to stay in India, occasionally visiting abroad. We touched their feet and took their blessings. They looked divine, and Amma’s eyes sparkled with happiness at finding such warm-hearted neighbors. I, too, felt an immediate comfort — almost like having my grandmother nearby again. Revathi aunty had already arranged for a maid to help clean the house. With guidance from Sharma garu, we performed the house-warming pooja and then sat down for Savitri amma’s strong, aromatic filter coffee. Their presence felt like a blessing — like adopted grandparents welcoming us to the neighborhood.
Thanks to Rama Rao uncle and Revathi aunty, our move was smooth. There was no gap anywhere — everything had been arranged perfectly. Dad and uncle soon began traveling together to the office by train, while Ravi and Satish secured admission in a reputed IIT coaching college. It was a “free seat,” but I knew that such privileges were covered by the fees of average students. The college made its name by showcasing top ranks, which satisfied Ravi — he was determined and confident of cracking IIT. Sandhya and I joined the Government Degree College for Women in commerce. Dad was relieved it was a women’s college, but commuting by bus worried him. After much persuasion from uncle, aunty, Amma, and Sandhya, he finally agreed — but with one strict condition: I must always travel with Sandhya.
Life slowly began in the new city. Amma adapted the fastest, making friends in the neighborhood and at the market, supported by Revathi aunty and Savitri amma. Dad, though quiet and reserved, was balanced by uncle’s outgoing nature. Ravi and Satish buried themselves in Physics, Chemistry, and Math, barely noticing the world around them. I was the one lagging. Outside, I stayed silent, hesitant, and reserved. Inside the home, I poured my heart out to Amma, telling her every tiny detail like a nursery child. In college, apart from Sandhya, I barely spoke to anyone.
I stood out for another reason too — I wore a half-saree, while most girls wore churidars. It made me feel old-fashioned and backward. Amma and Revathi aunty gently convinced Dad to let me wear churidars occasionally. With his reluctant approval, they got a few stitched for me. Slowly, I transitioned into churidars, a change that made me blend in better.
Thus began my new life in Hyderabad — a city full of noise, color, love, and possibilities. Each of us had our own path, yet together we were settling into a rhythm. For me, the city was still a mystery — I didn’t know what changes awaited, but I knew they were coming. This was only the beginning of my journey in the Wonder City.
* * *
2.3 Birthday Invitation
It was Sunday evening, around 6:30 pm. I was having tea with Mom and Dad, chatting casually. Ravi rarely joined us anymore, as he was fully focused on his IIT preparation. Just then, Rama Rao Uncle, Aunty, and Sandhya walked in. From the way they carried themselves, it was easy to guess they had something important to share, but the bright smiles on their faces revealed it was happy news. We matched their smiles with our own, and the whole atmosphere filled with warmth. Of course, they didn’t really need a formal welcome—our home was always like their extended home.
After settling down, Uncle invited us on Sandhya’s 18th birthday. And we were the very first to be invited. I had been waiting for this news, so when it was announced, my excitement overflowed. I immediately started teasing Sandhya. Embarrassed, she blushed and ran inside, and I followed her into our room while the elders began their serious discussion about the arrangements.
That night, I stayed awake until midnight just to wish her first. At exactly 12, I called, but their phone was engaged. I tried again after a few minutes—still the same. Finally, half an hour later, I got through. I shouted my wishes so loudly that Mom and Dad rushed into my room, joining in with their blessings too. I teasingly asked Sandhya whom she had been talking to for so long, but she only blushed and said it was relatives. I didn’t push her further—I was too sleepy by then and more excited about the big day ahead. What I didn’t know was that this day would turn out to be a turning point in my own life too.
The next morning, while I was getting ready for college, both Mom and Dad looked surprised. They asked why I was going to college on this day. But I had an important class and test I couldn’t afford to miss. My attendance was already short, and I didn’t want to go around begging lecturers with excuses later. Until recently, there had been a rule that I should only travel to college with Sandhya, which meant I had to skip whenever she was absent. But Sandhya didn’t always skip when I was absent—she continued attending. Slowly, I began falling behind. It was a big help that she shared notes and updates, but when both of us missed college together, I really struggled. After much pleading and data points, we finally convinced Dad to let me go alone, since a few of my other friends also traveled on the same bus.
Still, I went to college half-heartedly that day. I wanted nothing more than to spend the entire day with my best friend on her 18th birthday—a day so special for her and for me. Time seemed to crawl; every minute felt like an hour. I kept waiting for the evening, and at last it came, proving me wrong—time never slows or quickens, it just runs at its own pace. It’s only our perception that changes. As soon as class was done, I rushed out of college like a nursery kid spotting her mother at the gate. Even the bus felt late, though it came right on time. After all, it wasn’t the bus’s best friend’s birthday—why would it hurry? Restless, I waited to get down and practically flew home.
Once home, I helped Mom briefly in the kitchen, then hurried to my room. After a quick bath, I picked out my outfit—a yellow silk pavadai with a violet border, paired with a violet half-jacket and half-saree. I wore matching bangles, a long chain with twin-swan pendant, silver anklets that chimed with every step, and adorned my single plait with a garland of kanakambaram (crossandra) flowers. Like every girl, I needed my mom’s final approval before stepping out. She looked at me silently, her eyes soft and moist.
For a moment, I couldn’t understand why. Only later did I realize—it was that bittersweet emotion of a mother watching her little girl grow up. She saw not just her daughter in front of her, dressed like a young woman, but also glimpses of the future when I would one day leave her lap, her eyes, and her home to start a life of my own. That very thought brought tears to her eyes. Breaking the moment, I called out twice, “How am I looking, Mom?” She smiled through her emotions, whispered, “You are my little princess… so beautiful,” and placed two protective dots of kajal—one behind my ear, the other on my left foot—to keep away evil eyes.
I, of course, was too young to understand the weight of her feelings then. I only wanted to rush to Sandhya, who must already be waiting angrily for me. After all the mother-daughter drama, I finally set out. I walked fast—perhaps half walking, half running. The distance felt unusually long, as if it stretched further when your heart was impatient. If only magic were real, I thought—I would disappear from home and appear at Sandhya’s doorstep. But since no such thing exists, I just kept hurrying along, thinking of how to calm and please her. She had already made me promise that I’d spend the entire day with her,
* * *
2.4 The First Touch
As time and distance eventually come to an end if one keeps walking, I finally reached Sandhya’s home. The house was glowing with colorful serial lights and a tent set up on the terrace, giving the place a festive look. Even in my hurry, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at the sight, though I didn’t know exactly why that smile shone on my face.
Holding my pavada slightly up with my right hand so I could walk faster, my legs below the knees were exposed as I hurried up the steps. Just then, I heard someone calling “Excuse me.” At first, I wasn’t sure if it was the third or fourth time, but the voice kept repeating. I looked around but couldn’t see anyone nearby—until I finally looked up.
There, on the staircase, was a huge cardboard box being carried by someone. The box was so big that it completely covered the person’s upper body, leaving only his legs visible. I wondered how he even noticed me when his face was hidden. Of course, I wasn’t smart enough in that moment to realize that he could hear the jingling of my anklets and bangles announcing my presence.
The box seemed like it was about to slip from his hands and crash to the ground at any moment. Seeing that, I didn’t think twice. Without caring what was inside, I rushed forward, reached halfway up the stairs, and extended my hands to help.
I caught hold of the box from the other end, and in that instant, his hands touched mine. A strange shock-like sensation ran through me—funny to call it that, but I had no better word. Both his hands were on either side of the box, pressing against mine, and the touch sent ripples through my veins. My heartbeat raced, signals shot up to my brain, and for a moment, I went completely numb—both heart and mind refusing to respond.
As he adjusted his sweaty hands against mine to dry them, his slow movements across my skin sent unfamiliar yet powerful sensations through me. It felt like a transformation within, the very first male touch after I had come of age.
Once he steadied the box—maybe even steadied me—he called out from the other side, “Walk slowly, step backward down the stairs.”
Like a sleepwalker, I obeyed. His hands remained over mine, guiding me as we moved down step by step. The box pressed lightly against my chest, its size creating an elastic pressure over my tight blouse. It wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to make me feel its presence with every step. I had no sense of time until we reached the ground. When I finally placed the box down, relief rushed over me—whether for my body or my mind, I couldn’t tell.
Suddenly I remembered Sandhya’s birthday. Without waiting a second more, I slipped away across the box and hurried up the stairs again, holding my pavada higher and skipping steps in between. I didn’t even stop to look at him or hear his thanks—though I was sure he must have said something.
By the time I reached Sandhya’s room, another disaster had struck. She was furious, shouting, and throwing harmless items around (her usual way of showing anger without causing damage). I quietly walked in and wished her, but she turned her face away. Hugging her from behind, I leaned across and whispered an apology, but she refused to listen.
When my attempts failed, I sought help. First, I asked aunty to intervene and calm her down, but even that didn’t work. Then I turned to uncle. With his little tricks—he was an expert in these situations—he finally managed to cool her temper. However close girls may be to their mothers, they are always their father’s darlings.
At last, Sandhya agreed to speak with me. I hugged her again, wished her warmly, and began tickling her stomach with my fingers. She was extremely sensitive to it, and within seconds, she burst into laughter, dancing and pushing me away. The more she resisted, the more I teased, until the whole atmosphere turned joyful once again.
* * *
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