Every time the skies darken and the first drops fall, Goans feel something stir deep within—a sense of joy, nostalgia, and childhood freedom. In Goa, the monsoon is not just a season; it’s an emotion soaked in laughter, tradition, and unforgettable memories.
As soon as the first heavy rains arrived, children across Goan villages would abandon everything—books, chores, even shoes. They ran outside to get drenched, splash in puddles, and race paper boats down roadside streams. No one scolded them. In fact, parents often joined in, smiling at the pure happiness monsoon brought to their little ones.
The Joy of Getting Dirty
Getting wet wasn’t enough. We stomped through mud fields, slipped on mossy stones, and played football on waterlogged grounds. If it was Chikhal Khel, we rolled in the mud with pride. Every bruise or scratch told a story. Clothes and slippers were optional—freedom and play ruled the season.
Warm Kitchens and Rainy-Day Treats
While we played outside, grandmothers and mothers stirred magic in the kitchen. The smell of patal bhaji, alsande tonak, or hot mirchi bhajis filled the home. A cup of piping-hot black tea or tambde uddam awaited every child returning with soaked clothes and muddy feet.
The best treats came when rain refused to stop—holle (rice pancakes), mangane (chana dal dessert), and steaming bowls of kismur with rice. Every bite tasted better when eaten while drying off under a towel, hair still dripping.
School Days and Slushy Walks
Monsoons meant wet uniforms, squishy shoes, and shared umbrellas that never really helped. We folded our pants up and trudged through fields and shortcut paths to reach school. Sometimes, school declares a rain holiday, and we’d rejoice louder than thunder.
Frogs, Fireflies, and Folklore
Monsoons in Goa brought out nature in full glory. We watched frogs leap across courtyards and listened to their croaks become the soundtrack of the season. Fireflies lit up rainy evenings, and our elders told stories—about rain spirits, ghostly forests, and San Joao’s festive leaps into wells. The monsoon brought families closer. Power cuts turned into candle-lit dinners and board game nights. The sound of the rain became a lullaby, as cousins snuggled on mattresses, giggling and whispering stories until sleep took over. We never felt alone when the rain knocked at our doors.
Conclusion: Rain as a Reminder
Years may pass, but every Goan remembers those monsoon days. The smell of wet earth, the joy of shared umbrellas, and the warmth of a family kitchen—these are not just memories; they are stories etched into our soul. The monsoon doesn’t just arrive in Goa—it returns like a dear old friend, bringing back the childhood we never want to forget.
