My home state of Kerala is known for its monsoons—the kind of rain that, until a few years ago, was used as a depressing and romantic motif in poetry and films. It was a celebration at best, a nuisance at worst, akin to a love-hate marriage. Then, in 2018, everything was different. The people saw a deluge they had never seen before, as the rain turned into an ugly orgy that swept away lives and livelihoods.
People’s opinions of the monsoons became conflicted and they ceased to be a literary device. We were afraid of rain because we thought it might go from being romantic to being imminent every time the weather alert turned red.
Many of us lost sight of this intimate bond when we moved to the dry places that embraced us so warmly that we frequently melted into their steaming embrace. We became refrigerated fossils living in air-conditioned coops for most of the year. We created a synthetic, auditory experience of the drizzle and the deluge by playing ambient music on YouTube to bring back the distant memory of rain.
Occasionally, clouds would appear on the horizon, defying the weather patterns of our subtropical high pressure belt. If these clouds decided to precipitate and fall on the desert, it would be a blessing for us. The times when such blessings occurred weren’t
However, no land can continue to be barren and stunted because nature is a little bit indifferent to it. We planted lawns on the sandy plains of the desert, constructed citadels there, and decorated our open areas with petunias, geraniums, and marigolds to mingle with local cacti, desert roses, and date palms. And when worries about climate change started to surface, those in charge of us realized that, with a little creativity, we could actually flood our sand dunes with rain. They called it “cloud seeding,” a euphonic term. It conjured up a charming picture of a green-thumb-wielding person sowing cloud seeds in the sky to produce abundant crops of tiny water droplets.
Not that there weren’t enough clouds in our skies—it was just that they weren’t willing to pour. The clouds, like all stupefied humans, needed a prod. Thus, whenever the warm, humid air rose through the cooler ambient air and clouds began to build up in our empty skies, our men set out to court the clouds using salt catalysts and encourage them to precipitate in large quantities.
However, it wasn’t a carnival for everyone. For many of us, it was too late. Schedules were thrown off, cars fell into disrepair, and more. However, more of the demurral was prompted by its suddenness than by any actual inconvenience because, in contrast to regular monsoons, the rains here aren’t merciless or constant. They exist only as long as they fall, which occurs periodically when clouds build up at a pickup location and wait for us to move to bring them to earth. And when they come down and stir things up, we get a little crazy and turn it into the day’s main topic. It seems like Santa has arrived in town carrying his goodie bag, and we hope that this time
While many of us long for our native monsoon and its persistent pleasures, those of us who are here for work usually don’t worry about it on a daily basis. However, as American poet H.W. Longfellow once said, “Into each life some rain must fall,” earning a living is more than just making money, and leading a fulfilling life is more than just living it up in a fancy town.