Monsoon Quotes

“Rain clouds come floating in, not to muddy my days ahead, but to make me calm, happy and hopeful.”
― rajuda

“A man follows the path laid out for him. He does his duty to God and his King. He does what he must do, not what pleases him. God's truth, boy, what kind of world would this be if every man did what pleased him alone? Who would plough the fields and reap the harvest, if every man had the right to say, 'I don't want to do that.' In this world there is a place for every man, but every man must know his place.”
― Wilbur Smith, Monsoon

“the woman is rain,
and when she falls,
she is a monsoon.
to love her is to drown.”
― AVA., you are safe here.

“As a romantic ideal, turbulent, impoverished India could still weave its spell, and the key to it all - the colours, the moods, the scents, the subtle, mysterious light, the poetry, the heightened expectations, the kind of beauty that made your heart miss a beat - well, that remained the monsoon.”
― Alexander Frater, Chasing the Monsoon

“Love comes and goes so fast! It comes like a tropical storm and it goes like the wind in winter”
― Aditia Rinaldi

“The monsoons were the real thing; they dissolved things to the bone.”
― Anjum Hasan, The Cosmopolitans

“What the four seasons of the year mean to the European, the one season of the monsoon means to the Indian. It is preceded by desolation; it brings with it hopes of spring; it has the fullness of summer and the fulfillment of autumn all in one.”
― Khushwant Singh, I Shall Not Hear the Nightingale

“If people were seasons, she'd be monsoon. After every downpour, the garden laughed like her, wild and free.”
― Meeta Ahluwalia

“Shortly before the monsoon, the heat becomes very intense. It is said that the more intense it becomes the more abundantly it will draw down the rains, so one wants it to be as hot as can be. And by that time one has accepted it -- not got used to but accepted; and moreover, too worn-out to fight against it, one submits to it and endures.”
― Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, Heat and Dust

“मेघ गर्जना—
घनप्रिया के संग
इन्द्रधनुष ।”
― Manish Kumar Shrivastva, Prakash: Ek Dyuti

“হিজলের বনে, ফুলের আখরে, লিখিয়া রঙিন চিঠি,
নিরালা বাদলে ভাসাইয়া দিয়াছে, না জানি কোন দিঠি।”
― Jasim Uddin, ধানখেত

“It was June in Maharashtra, and the monsoon would not come. The whole district lay panting in the heat, the burning sky clapped tight overhead like the lid of a tandoor oven. Lean goats stumbled down the narrow alleyways, udders hanging slack and dry beneath them; beggars cried for water in every village. Dust-devils swept over baked clay and through the dry weeds, whistling and shrieking. Hot sand blew into the eyes of torpid bullocks as they leaned into the yoke, whips snapping over their bony backs. A single stream crept along the valley floor, shrunken and muddy, and women stood ankle deep in its shallows, beating their laundry against rocks that rippled and danced in the sun.”
― Arinn Dembo, Monsoon and Other Stories

“Monsoon Love is a love story with a few comic twists. The idea for this story came to me when I went into the local town of Pokhara with a friend to buy his son a birthday present. We had just arrived at the shops when a heavy down pour began, and as we had arrived on his motorbike and didn’t have raincoats or umbrellas so we had to wait for the rain to stop. We were standing under a awning watching the street while we waited, and I noticed this very beautiful young woman walk past me dressed in a t-shirt and jeans with the cuffs rolled half up her legs, but the way she held her umbrella made it impossible to see her face, though with the nice body she had her face must have been just as lovely. Then I though, imagine some guy stuck working in an office, and seeing a view like that every day of the same woman, and falling in love with her despite not seeing her face.”
― Andrew James Pritchard

“The monsoons had cooled down the temperature and a thick blanket, folded into a perfect rectangle, lay at the foot of my bed. Grandma must have come to inspect the settings a hundred times, being a perfectionist. Her love was evident in every little thing that was present in the house. It was soothing to be back in the house. Something unwounded from within, the moment I entered it.”
― Preethi Venugopala

“To know India and her peoples, one has to know the monsoon. one has to know the monsoon. It is not enough to read about it in books, or see it on the cinema screen, or hear someone talk about it. It has to be a personal experience because nothing short of living through it can fully convey all it means to a people for whom it is not only the source of life, but also their most exciting impact with nature.”
― Khushwant Singh, I Shall Not Hear the Nightingale

“Why are the desert blooms that spring to life after a monsoon so magnificent? The answer is – their impermanence. The lush growth and blooming flowers do not last very long here in the desert, and this new growth only happens once a year. If this growth was never-ending, we would soon take it for granted. Likewise, our human lives. What makes them so special and unique? Our fleeting impermanence.”
― Alaric Hutchinson, Living Peace: Essential Teachings For Enriching Life

“It was as if the curtains came down on all this, if not entirely obliterated it, when the monsoon rose up in the thunderous clouds from the parched valley below to engulf the hills, invade them with the opaque mist in which a pine tree or a mountain top appeared only intermittently, and then unleashed a downpour that brought Ravi's rambling to a halt and confined him to the house for days at a time, deafened by the rain drumming on the rooftop and cascading down the gutters and through the spouts to rush downhill in torrents.”
― Anita Desai, The Artist of Disappearance

“Jungle rain had no beginning or end; it grew like foliage from the sky, branching and arching to the earth, sometimes in solid thickets entangling the islands, and other times, in tendrils of blue mist curling out of coastal clouds. The jungle breathed an eternal green that fevered men until they dripped sweat the way rubbery jungle leaves dripped the monsoon rain.”
― Leslie Marmon Silko, Ceremony

“My heart screams to get drenched in the magical rain but here I am stuck by my window inhaling the petrichor smell. The cosmos is dancing in joy as monsoon has touched the sky like a mighty sage and nature is all set to party like never before, as this time humans are caged.”
― Nayana Phukan

“এদিকে দিগন্তে যতদূর চাহি, পাংশু মেঘের জাল-
পায়ে জড়াইয়া পথে দাড়ায়েছে, আজিকার মহাকাল।”
― Jasim Uddin, ধানখেত

“When I wake, it seems a little less hot than usual, so I’m worried I have a fever until light flashes behind the curtains and the sound of a detonation rolls in with a force that makes the windows rattle. As I step outside with a plastic bag over my cast, a stiff breeze pulls my hair away from my face, and I see the pregnant clouds of the monsoon hanging low over the city.
The rains have finally decided to come.
I sit down on the lawn, resting my back against the wall of the house, and light an aitch I’ve waited a long time to smoke. Suddenly the air is still and the trees are silent, and I can hear laughter from my neighbor’s servant quarters. A bicycle bell sounds in the street, reminding me of the green Sohrab I had as a child. Then the wind returns, bringing the smell of wet soil and a pair of orange parrots that swoop down to take shelter in the lower branches of the banyan tree, where they glow in the shadows.”
― Mohsin Hamid, Moth Smoke

“We pretend
the monsoon
has come early.

In the distance
bombs
explode like thunder,
slashes
lighten the sky,
gunfire
falls like rain.

Distant
yet within ears,
within eyes.

Not that far away
after all.”
― Thanhha Lai, Inside Out & Back Again

“Everything in the house turned damp; the blue fur of mildew crept furtively over any object left standing for the briefest length of time: shoes, bags, boxes, it consumed them all. The sheets on the bed were clammy when he got between them at night, and the darkness rang with the strident cacophony of the big tree crickets that had been waiting for this, their season.”
― Anita Desai, The Artist of Disappearance

“A raindrop strikes the lawn, sending up a tiny plume of dust. Others follow, a barrage of dusty explosions bursting all around me. The leaves of the banyan tree rebound from their impact. The parrots disappear from sight. In the distance, the clouds seem to reach down to touch the earth. And then a curtain of water falls quietly and shatters across the city with a terrifying roar, drenching me instantly. I hear the hot concrete of the driveway hissing, turning rain back into steam, and I smell the dead grass that lies under the dirt of the lawn.
I fill my mouth with water, gritty at first, then pure and clean, and roll into a ball with my face pressed against my knees, sucking on a hailstone, shivering as wet cloth sticks to my body. Heavy drops beat their beat on my back and I rock slowly, my thoughts silenced by the violence of the storm, gasping in the sudden, unexpected cold.”
― Mohsin Hamid, Moth Smoke

“It's fifteen hundred miles to Ankh-Morpork,‘ he said." We've got three hundred and sixty-three elephants, fifty carts of forage, the monsoon's about to break and we're wearing... we're wearing... sort of things, like glass, only dark... dark glass things on our eyes...”
― Terry Pratchett, Moving Pictures

“The monsoon had finally come, blowing all rational thought asunder. It was a living thing—a monster from a child’s nightmare, a seething black mountain range of cumulonimbus crawling with giant electric spiders, a dark and angry spirit snorting fire. I stood naked in the deluge, drinking in the cool darkness until the darkness overtook me.”
― Tod A, Banging the Monkey

“Creatures from the damp earth emerged from their homes in the ground, slithering
away on the damp overgrown grass, onto the stairs, the patio and squirming their way into the house. Survival, it was, risking
being squashed underfoot over being drowned in their homes.
Earthworms, snails, small snakes, insects. Life survived seasons and inundations, and poured itself out onto higher ground.”
― Kiran Manral, More Things in Heaven and Earth

“Searching in an ancient rain-fed lake in northern India, paleoclimatologists using radiocarbon dating have discovered that 4,100 years ago, the summer monsoons began a rapid decline. They did not return to normal for two centuries.

For an unimaginable two hundred years, the Harappan region saw hardly any rain. Around the same time in China, Egypt, and Mesopotamia, the three other earliest-known civilizations also were lost to the dry sands of history.”
― Cynthia Barnett, Rain: A Natural and Cultural History

“এসো করো স্নান নবধারাজলে— বলবে কে আর?
শহরে বৃষ্টি জলকাদামাখা নোংরা দেদার,
গীতবিতানের শুকনো পাতায় বর্ষার গান
রবীন্দ্রনাথ একলা ভেজেন, আমাকে ভেজান।

নীপবন নেই, শহরে রয়েছে কড়া নলবন
সিরিয়ালে দেখা হিরো-হিরোইন সাজানো দুজন,
পেডাল নৌকো শহুরে লেকের প্রমোদতরী
এসো হে আষাঢ়, ছাতায় তোমায় বরণ করি!”
― Kabir Suman