By Karan Thapar

I’ve decided to write about an odd subject this Sunday. It’s not political but it is topical and it’s certainly important. More than anything else it fascinates me. And, truth be told, we all spend a lot of time talking about it. In fact, It’s usually the core of our casual comments. Most of us refer to it unthinkingly. Now have you guessed what I’m referring to? Probably not. Here’s the answer: the weather!

It’s taken me decades to realize how my attitude to the weather has changed not just as I’ve grown older but also as I’ve changed countries. This monsoon I love the sound of the falling rain. I find it comforting, re-assuring and calming. Bright sunny days in July and August have disconcerted me. Dark clouds presaging a downpour have eased the tension. And I breathe an audible sigh of relief when blue skies at breakfast convert to grey clouds by tea time and prolonged steady rain at night.

But I wasn’t always like this. I used to be a very different sort of person. Just a decade ago the arrival of the monsoon would depress me. I’d miss the blistering heat of May and June, the clear blue sky and the hot loo. I’m a child of summer, I’d say to myself, in explanation. In summer you’re free to do what you want. The monsoon incapacitates, restricts and constrains. My spirits would sink right through July and August. Not till the restored sunshine of October would the world feel right.

The explanation for this was simple. I’d returned to India after decades in Britain where grey skies and the constant pitter-patter of rain is depressing. A blue sky over London is a blessing you often don’t see. When you do its thrilling. Rain and cold wintery clouds are the norm and all you want to do is stay in bed. But you can’t and I would resent getting wet walking to work, shoes squelching and glasses fogged up.

When I returned to India thirty years ago I brought with me my attitude to the weather. It was misplaced. It belonged to another continent. But it was difficult to shake off. Instead, it made me think of India’s weather in alien and, even, ridiculous ways.

My response this year is so different. For me it’s the surest sign I’ve changed. I’m not the person I was when I returned to Delhi in the 1990s. I’ve become a different being. May be a better one too? Of that, funnily enough, I am not so sure.

The paradox is London has changed too. This year summer temperatures have rivalled Delhi’s, often making London hotter. The BBC says its experienced five separate heat waves since June. How different was the London I remember. A surprise heatwave in 1976, whilst I was at Cambridge, lead to a series of severe measures. First, the use of garden hoses was strictly banned even if that threatened “England’s green and pleasant land”. More quixotically, my barber forbad his wife a second cuppa! That freak summer was talked about for years. There hadn’t been anything like that in living memory. Now it seems common place. Who knows heat waves in summer could be the new normal?

So this December will the winter rains in Britain be welcomed rather than resented? I doubt it. Attitudes don’t change so easily and quickly. But if summers like that of 2025 repeat themselves for a decade I’m sure that could be the case.

The ‘truth’ I want to leave you with is perhaps already apparent. We are, no doubt, creatures of habit but those habits are often conditioned by the weather. We little realize it and often fail to give it credit, but the weather determines how we view the world and our own state of happiness within it.

Oh well, ho-hum. So much for my wisdom. Enjoy the monsoon whilst it lasts!