RainyDay Rituals

By Satya | Bhuangan Blog

Why Your Soul Craves Routine More Than Your Calendar — Rainy Day Rituals from My Childhood Home

There’s something about the rains that calls us back — not just to earth, but to ourselves.

When the first monsoon winds blew across our village, it wasn't a weather update. It was a whisper: slow down, come back, begin again.

I didn’t know then, as a child, that what we were doing was called ritual. All I knew was that rainy days had their own quiet rhythm — and Amma never skipped a beat.

🌿 The Boil of Neem Leaves

On the first downpour, Amma would fill a brass pot with water and throw in a handful of fresh neem leaves. She’d let it simmer slowly on the wood-fired stove, the scent sharp and clean. That water would be used to rinse our feet or wiped on our skin — not as a treatment, but as tuning.

"The air holds mischief now," she'd say, referring to the way dampness could creep into the bones. But neem, she believed, kept us guarded — not just physically, but spiritually.

🍲 Rasam for the Rain

While thunder rolled outside, the kitchen simmered too. A thin, spicy tamarind rasam would bubble in a clay pot, its aroma trailing hints of garlic, black pepper, and love.

We drank it like tea, poured into steel tumblers, warming our fingers and our hearts. There was no rush to “finish lunch” — there was only the ritual of slowness. Sip. Pause. Listen to the rain.

🌬️ Eucalyptus in the Corner

In one corner of the room sat a little camphor burner. Amma would sprinkle a few drops of eucalyptus oil onto it, the scent rising with the steam. It cleared the air, but also calmed the spirit.

In hindsight, it was her way of saying: protect your breath, protect your space.

🪔 Oiling the Hair, Calming the Mind

Evenings were for oil — warm coconut, infused with hibiscus or curry leaves. My sister and I would sit cross-legged, shoulders hunched, as Amma’s fingers worked through our hair.

That oil carried more than nourishment. It was routine without rigidity — a sacred loop that brought the body and the soul back into rhythm.

💬 A Calendar Can’t Catch This

No app notification tells you when your spirit is out of sync. But the body knows. The soul knows. And that’s why ritual matters.

Not as obligation, but as orientation.

We don’t crave productivity. We crave pattern. Familiarity. A sense of returning to something older, softer, truer.

Especially in the rain.

🧭 Your Turn

What are your rainy day rituals?

Is there something your grandmother did that you've slowly found yourself repeating?

What does your soul reach for when the world slows down?

Let this season be less about catching up… and more about coming home.