Welcoming the rains
K S S Pillai
A few days ago, the media were shouting hoarse about the delayed monsoon and its bad effects. The main culprit was said to be El Niño, which was badly affecting the climate of many parts of the world.
It was increasing the global heat in some places while lashing some other parts with a deluge. Television sets often showed scantily dressed people running helter-skelter to escape from severe heat. People were advised to do many things to minimise its effects.
Everything has now changed after the monsoon rains came in full force. Some people died by falling into open manholes under the rainwater, while some lost their lives by stepping on exposed electric wires. A tree fell on a school bus and killed some students. Many spots on recently constructed roads caved in, trapping vehicles, while some other parts were washed away.
Rains caused landslides on the way to some famous pilgrim centres, or flooded rivers forced them to halt for many days. There were flash floods at many places, killing and wounding many. Low-lying areas were inundated, and in some places, some bridges crashed.
Some people were killed when old buildings crumbled, and the walls of buildings collapsed. Some employees were suspended to silence those demanding action against those responsible. The rains have flooded the underground passage under the railway lines, forcing people to take a longer route. I had a feeling that similar stories were printed in the past and would reappear in the coming years, too.
An added ill effect of continued heavy rain is that it is the harbinger of many seasonal diseases. Hospitals are overcrowded, and doctors and other medical staff are busy throughout the day and night. Again, the authorities have advised a certain lifestyle to escape from these scourges.
I, a retired employee, am happy at the arrival of the new season. I enjoy the sound of pounding rain at night, which acts as a lullaby. Though the daylight is dim, I enjoy it rather than putting on electric lights. There is no need for air conditioners and fast-rotating ceiling fans, and I can open the windows while sleeping under mosquito nets—the songs of the disappointed mosquitoes hovering outside the net aid my sleep.
Sitting in the lobby during the day, I sometimes fall asleep over the day’s newspaper. At other times, I see slowly moving clouds high up in the sky, and trees swaying their branches in the gentle breeze. The grass has already started growing with renewed energy after remaining dormant in the hot sand.
Drops of water drip from the leaves, and the side of roads has little rivulets of flowing water after a heavy rain. Flashes of lightning and peals of thunder reverberate in the dim atmosphere. Some birds seem to enjoy the raindrops and sit on the terrace of the neighbouring building. The colourful flag on the distant temple, disentangled after some days, fluttered in the wind with renewed energy. The tiled roofs and the walls of the nearby building, washed by rain, are cleaned and look new.
School-going children also enjoy the rains. Draped in plastic raincoats, they enjoy splashing in water puddles, plenty of which are available everywhere. Now that there is a break in the festivals, temple elephants have a lazy time. They get lots of green leaves as food, and an Ayurvedic diet.
I remember how I enjoyed my childhood during the rainy season. Water used to flow with force from behind our home and pass through the road, creating many puddles on the way. My friends and I used to build paper boats with big ants as passengers.
The river near my home used to have muddy, fast-flowing water with occasional whirlpools, driving most of the ferries, except the experts, out of business. Those whose main business was catching sea fish were prohibited from doing so for some days, and they came out in their small country boats with their nets to catch fish. Some householders with fishing nets would also go to the riverbank to catch fish. The water level in the temple ponds would go up, and more people would go there to bathe and wash clothes.
Despite what the media say, my favourite season is the monsoon.
(The author is a retired professor of English. He is a regular contributor to ‘The Kashmir Vision’. His short stories and articles have appeared in many national and international publications)
