The first drops of the monsoon rain in Sindh bring forth a fragrance that I have never experienced anywhere else in the world.
- For Sindh, rain is not merely a season; it is a feeling, a symbol of life, and a doorway to new hopes.
- The writer shares his feelings and memories as he travels in heavy rain from Västernorrland to Stockholm.
By Abdullah Usman Morai | Sweden
Last weekend, we traveled nearly six hundred kilometers north from Stockholm to the province of Västernorrland for a short trip. On our way back, it began to rain early in the morning, steadily and heavily. The rain followed us for almost two hundred kilometers, refusing to let go of our trail. At one or two places, we even had to stop and take a breath. Amid that downpour, I couldn’t help but remember Sindh.
The first drops of the monsoon rain in Sindh bring forth a fragrance that I have never experienced anywhere else in the world. A childhood memory surfaced, how we would bury small insects with a chickpea in the ground, believing that doing so would make it rain. Remembering that made me smile, and I thought about how the scent that rises from Sindh’s soil after rain is not merely the smell of earth; it carries the essence of an ancient promise, centuries-old memories, a spiritual ritual, and the aroma of love, labor, and prayers.
When the first raindrop falls from the sky, it feels as though the heart of Sindh’s soil begins to beat. In that moment, the entire land, from city streets to village courtyards, is covered in a fragrance that no perfume maker could ever bottle or sell. That scent seeps only into the soul. Children in villages laugh and run across the fields, while elders quietly whisper, “Blessings have arrived.”
For Sindh, rain is not merely a season; it is a feeling, a symbol of life, and a doorway to new hopes.
The Touch of Soil and the Spirit of Sindh
The soil of Sindh is no ordinary soil. It is the same earth that has clung to the feet of its people for centuries, bearing witness to their toil and sweat. It is not just a piece of land; it is a living book of humanity, where every grain carries a story of someone’s sacrifice, love, or struggle. When the rain touches it, the fragrance that emerges is like a voice echoing through thousands of years, saying:
“I am here. I am Sindh. I am the land of those who sowed love and harvested truth.”
From this soil rises the perfume of Sufi saints’ verses, the melody of Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai’s strings, and the softness of mystical thought. Within Sindh’s earth, the pain, love, and hope of humankind merge to form a harmony that touches the soul.
The Message of Rain
Rain has never been merely drops of water for Sindh; it has always symbolized sustenance, forgiveness, and divine mercy. When the first rain falls upon the parched fields, not only the land but people’s hearts, too, are refreshed. With the rain, seeds begin to speak, trees smile, and the farmer’s eyes sparkle with joy.
In Sindhi society, rainfall brings with it an increase in togetherness, gratitude, and joy. Villagers and city dwellers alike raise their hands toward the sky and say, “O Allah, You have been kind.” That moment is the purest reflection of Sindhi simplicity and faith.
The Fragrance of Memories
Rain often awakens memories of longing and reunion. Along with the rain and soil, recollections too become moist. A person living far from home might remember the smoke rising from the hearth in his courtyard; someone in Sindh might recall a promise once made to a friend now distant. Each raindrop revives an old day, a dear friend, a separation, or a forgotten moment.
Sometimes I remember the rains of childhood, how Amman (mother) would make papad, gur wari tahiri (sweet rice), or wheat churi with tea, and call the children down from the roof while the rain poured outside.
At times, I recall the elders’ words: “The scent of the first rain is the fragrance of heaven.” And truly, I have never felt that heavenly scent anywhere except in Sindh.
Those memories unfold like the pages of a book written in dust, reminding us that life’s truest emotions often lie hidden in its simplest moments.
Sindh and Rain – A Bond of Love
The relationship between Sindh and rain is one of love. When rainwater gathers in the fields and lowlands, children jump into puddles, village women smile as they watch the downpour from rooftops, and even the rustling leaves seem to laugh in the wind. The entire village becomes wrapped in freshness and fragrance.
All these scenes together form a kind of poetry, one not written in any book but alive in every Sindhi heart. The rivers, canals, branches, and fields of Sindh come alive with the rain. Each grain of soil, with every drop of water, becomes part of a new rhythm of life.
For the Urban Sindhi – The Feeling of Rain
Today, when many Sindhis live in big cities or abroad like myself, they still feel the same familiar scent in their thoughts whenever it rains, the fragrance that once rose from the village soil. Whether in Karachi, Islamabad, Stockholm, London, Tokyo, Sydney, or Vancouver, when a raindrop touches one’s face, for a fleeting moment, one remembers the village, childhood, and homeland. That feeling wraps around the heart like a warm shawl against inner coldness.
Soil, Rain, and Our Identity
Rain and soil are the symbols of Sindhi identity. Within them lie the philosophies of patience, simplicity, hard work, and gratitude. A Sindhi is bound to the soil from birth and returns to it after death. This land is not just our dwelling; it is part of our being.
The fragrance that rises with the rain comes not only from the ground but from within us. It reminds us that the earth still lives, that we too are alive, capable of feeling, and that our love for our homeland still endures and will endure until our last breath. This fragrance ties us to our roots and reminds us that we are not merely dependent on bread, we are indebted to the nurturing of the earth itself.
In the end, rain, soil, and memory are the fundamental elements of Sindh’s life. Rain is the name of hope, soil the name of endurance and continuity, and memory the bridge to our past that connects us to our eternal present. Within the fragrance of these three, Sindh becomes a complete story, a story of life, history, love, and hope.
With every falling drop, this land renews itself, just as people, too, learn to renew their emotions with each new rain. Every grain of Sindh’s soil, every whiff of its scent, every memory it holds teaches us that the most beautiful things in life are not seen, but felt. The rain may cease, the soil may dry, yet the shared fragrance of that moment lingers in the air for long.
That fragrance tells us how deep and genuine Sindh’s spiritual heritage truly is. As long as rain continues to fall upon this soil, and its fragrance rises again and again, the memory of the Sindhi people will forever remain alive and fresh.
The rain eventually stopped after two hundred kilometers, but the memories of Sindh’s rainy season traveled with me all the way back to Stockholm, and the bond of my soul with Sindh grew even stronger.
Read: The Philosophy of Conscious Seclusion
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Abdullah Soomro, penname Abdullah Usman Morai, hailing from Moro town of Sindh, province of Pakistan, is based in Stockholm Sweden. Currently he is working as Groundwater Engineer in Stockholm Sweden. He did BE (Agriculture) from Sindh Agriculture University Tando Jam and MSc water systems technology from KTH Stockholm Sweden as well as MSc Management from Stockholm University. Beside this he also did masters in journalism and economics from Shah Abdul Latif University Khairpur Mirs, Sindh. He is author of a travelogue book named ‘Musafatoon’. His second book is in process. He writes articles from time to time. A frequent traveler, he also does podcast on YouTube with channel name: VASJE Podcast.
