There is a lyrical quality to the rain in Kerala. Whether it is the misty high ranges of Idukki or the lush paddy fields of Kuttanad, the swinging palms on the fringes of beaches or limpid ponds in village squares, scenes seem cast in an ethereal mould.
The show begins from the time pregnant grey clouds sweep across from the Arabian Sea covering the landscape in a veil of anticipation. Without much ado the rain arrives; in a wash of misty drizzle at first; then lashing with gusto. Through the haze, greenery takes on a different hue and all around foliage appears renewed, seemingly rejoicing at the drenching. The russet earth, where visible — left bare in patches by the ubiquitous vegetation — soon takes on a green coat. Once the earth is soaked, the overflow runs into channels and streams where the roiling water tumbles in an effusive surge through hills and dales to join the 40-odd rivers in the state or the labyrinth of backwaters along the long coast.
Picture postcard
The verdant Western Ghats, standing like sentinels on the eastern border, are ideally placed to intercept the thick moist clouds scudding ashore from the Arabian Sea at the onset of monsoon. The resulting precipitation ensures copious rainfall from June well into October — the edavapathy — and again less vigorously from November to February — the thulavarsham .
The backwaters — an interlinked network of canals and lakes spanning 450 km from Thiruvananthapuram to Vadakara — offer picture postcard scenes of a delightful interplay between the verdant earth and the languorous lagoons, awash in the rains. Paeans have been written about Vembanad Lake, the biggest water basin stretching from Kodungallur in the north to almost Alappuzha in the south.
Near its southern end lies the idyllic Kumarakom. This place, seeming to epitomise the glorious kinship between land and water, must have surely inspired the line ‘God's Own Country'. Here, when the rains visit, the effusive charm of nature is sure to cast its spell on you. Picture this: A lone kettuvallom , the traditional boathouse, or a line of slender dugout canoes gliding languorously on the lake and disappearing into the haze of rain.
The spectacle could produce one of two results: Hold you spellbound or wrap you up in a dreamlike state depending on whether you're gazing from the banks or ensconced in the cosy interiors of the boat as it drifts on the water. Kerala has this unique, intangible quality: It compels even the most harried to slow down and look at it; to soak in its sensory riches. The experience might touch you somewhere deep and restore and rejuvenate you.
Along the long coast, rain casts a different spell altogether. Fishing is reduced to a minimum and consequently, upturned valloms — long wooden boats resembling a canoe — lie strewn on the rain drenched sands. The choppy sea lies obscured under a grey veil… as the salty air is washed clean by gusty winds that tug at the fronds of coconut palms bending them backwards. The normally rustic, laidback quality of the beaches takes on an even more soporific air.
And that air extends beyond the beaches to the towns and villages. Limpid showers dance on deserted streets. In tranquil towns and winsome villages rain lashes in the gutters, drumming on roof tiles and swirling in paddy fields. You hear it tap the windowpanes or see it pour from the eaves in quivering streams. Indoors, the air is suffused with a warm indolence, of listless afternoons and cosy evenings; a time to savour steaming kappa (tapioca) and fiery fish curry, piping hot chaaya and crisp Pazhampori or banana fritters; everyday fare that takes on an added tang when the days are damp.
When night comes
The air is saturated with the scent of soaked earth and dripping vegetation, of whooshing winds and claps of thunder. When night comes, the sky takes centre stage. Thunderbolts streak across the night sky in jagged arcs amid ominous rumblings and staccato booms like an inspired symphony of light and sound. As dawn breaks, the land appears at peace with itself, satiated, emanating a rare joie de vivre. You can see it in the gushing waterfalls, happily gurgling rivers, vibrant hillsides covered in green carpets of tea and virginal forests with a fresh new coat of lichens and moss. When the days are damp you almost sense a tap on your shoulder; inviting you to slow down and look around!
The monsoon imparts a whole new look to Kerala. When the rains arrive, this slender swath of land between the storm-lashed mountains and the wave-tossed sea transforms itself, reborn in a million shades of green, seemingly turning itself into nature's playground.
Other side
Is there a flip-side to the monsoon? Actually yes.
When the monsoon rages, rainwater gushes down roads and by lanes in cities and towns in muddled torrents, flowing into roadside gutters and distended canals, leaving behind slush and mire in its wake.
When the skies open up, sheets of water reduce visibility so much that red-hued buses plying the streets — their wipers swishing furiously on frosty windscreens — rein in their otherwise breakneck speed. Sometimes, without preamble, a sudden squall rips through the trees lining the roads, making tall coconut palms weave dangerously. Sometimes the fronds, wrenched from their moorings, crash to the ground thudding violently next to scurrying citizens in white shirt and dhoti under the ubiquitous black umbrella. Foliage rattles noisily and the wind wails forlornly. Leaves quiver and rattle at the ends of their stems like tattered sails in a typhoon. Lightning streaks through grey clouds in ominous glare and claps of thunder boom deafeningly. It appears like a prelude to something ominous. And a kind of inertia creeps up on the people, lulling them into a strange lethargy.
Monsoon in Kerala carries a myriad of moods — magical, mystical, and annoying and oppressive.
