Produced by: Manoj Kumar
When skies go grey, your brain’s serotonin plummets—suddenly, carbs aren’t a want, they’re a need. That’s why pakoras or jalebis seem emotionally urgent as the drizzle sets in.
Rain taps into nostalgia like a trigger—one whiff of monsoon air and your brain queues up that childhood scene: steaming chai, crunchy snacks, and grandma’s laughter in the background.
Chilly rain makes your body beg for heat. Fried treats and spiced tea do more than warm your hands—they light up dopamine circuits like comfort fireworks in your brain.
Rain stalls your plans, and boredom sets the trap. With nowhere to go, your brain turns snack-time into story-time—craving comfort, flavor, and something to do with your hands.
Your senses are on high alert when rain falls—every sound and scent says cozy. Your brain connects that vibe to something crispy, spicy, or sweet landing on your tongue.
In India, monsoon and masala chai go hand in hand. It’s not just habit—it’s cultural programming. Your brain knows exactly what the weather is supposed to taste like.
Chili hits your tongue, rain hits the roof—and your brain gets a double jolt. Spicy snacks raise endorphins and body temp, syncing perfectly with the cool, misty mood.
Even without hunger, your brain craves emotional security. Rainy days revive old emotional maps—when samosas meant shelter, when bhajiyas meant belonging.
Rain lowers mood. Snacks raise it. Your brain knows the shortcut: boil the tea, open the snacks. It’s chemistry and memory stirred into one addictive ritual.