Monsoon Rain and the Five Senses

June is the month when the Southwestern Monsoon hits the tip of the Indian subcontinent, geographically speaking. It is also the month when we used to spend our childhood summer vacations in Kerala, mostly commuting between the houses of our various relatives spanning the districts of Ernakulam, Thrissur and even on a couple of occasions reaching as far as the capital of the State and from there to Kanyakumari!

Arriving tired from the 48 hour train journey that commenced all the way from New Delhi railway station and ended at Thrissur, we'd be greeted by the familiar face of our maternal grandfather or one of our maternal uncles. Then hopping into an ambassador and going along for about an hour into the interiors of Thrissur till the car reached a small place by the river called Manalur ('Manal', literally meaning 'sand'). After spending a few carefree and unforgettable days playing with cousins, watching latest Malayalam movies and eating the delicious food made by our maternal grandmother we'd take off for father's ancestral house located in the far away Ernakulam district. And after a full day's journey changing countless buses (including the much respected KSRTC or 'Transport' Buses) we'd stumble into the imposing house.

The house was made of wood with stone and cement flooring, and having a tiled roof added to the grandeur. There was a courtyard in the front and a small flight of stone steps at the end of it led onto a long stone and cement corridor lined with numerous pillars. A number of wooden doors opened indoors from the corridor leading to the various rooms. A bunch of cousins would be standing at these various doors looking with curiosity at the visitors and when they saw who it was, would break into shy smiles.

The big house has strong ties to the Monsoons in my mind as well as to the quintessential relationship between my five senses and the way they were brought alive by the rains. It was here, more often than not that I got to first smell, hear, then see, and finally touch and taste the very first showers of the impressive Southwestern Monsoon that would inevitably break within a couple of days of our arrival. The house was located on high ground, more like a small hillock and the altitude made it possible to hear and see the oncoming rain much before it hit the house itself.

I can still picture in my mind sitting on the solitary wooden bed at the end of the long corridor and hearing the rain almost running up the hillock. A fine breeze would be blowing with the indescribably sweet and earthy smell of the rain. This fragrance is not as intoxicating as the heavenly one of the first drops of rain on parched ground, when the very first spell of rain falls after the long and hot summers. Still, the showers that come after the first rain are the ones that really pour down upon the earth bringing along a fragrance that holds all that the Monsoon has traversed in its journey Eastwards.

Hearing the rain approach I'd look out towards the rubber plantations a little distance away on lower ground and soon the oncoming showers would be visible over the tops of the rubber trees as they bristled a little at the drenching they got. Almost immediately the rain would be upon the old house, pounding away at the tiled roof and orchestrating a symphony of water and the curious sounds it produced as it fell with wild abandon over trees and tiles, struck the stone pillars and steps and reached inwards across the stone corridor spraying all who stood in the doorways watching the falling rivulets of water. A calming coolness would bathe the body and spirit and we'd reach out out hands and then our faces to get a feel of the spray that came from the water pouring down in sheets from the roof. Inching our faces forward we'd open our mouths a little and squeal with laughter as the tongue caught the sharpness of the falling drops. There'd we'd stand just short of getting drenched but brimming with excitement and wonder at the blessings that poured out of the Heavens and praying for a long spell that would just go on and on without stopping. Long live childhood memories and the Monsoons!