In all the 20 years that I spent in Mumbai I cannot remember ever being scared of lightning and thunder. In fact, if I recall right, all the years that I had a rented apartment right on the beach, I used to enjoy watching the rain and the occasional flashes of lightning that appeared to rip the sky till they hit the water.
I don’t know anymore whether it is a city that leaves you no time to wonder about nature or is it that you are kind of insulated from its onslaughts. Cooped up as we were in our air-conditioned offices, worrying about monthly targets or revelling in the joy of having acquired a new client, during the day there was no opportunity to view the sky. Once home, I watched CNBC to check out my wealth quotient, had a sundry-conversation, dinner, and then it was time for bed with thoughts of the pressures of the next day.
In Santiniketan I realise the kind of hold that the weather gods have on everyday life. Here, from late April when the kalbaisakhis or the evening storms start, weather becomes the conversation opener. “Lovely storm, it really helped the temperature cone down” or “what a storm, not a single mango is left in my garden” are lines that are oft heard. By June and July, many of the people you interact with are either complaining about too much rain which is spoiling the rice crop or too little. And by then, of course, also begin stories of lightning and the havoc that it creates.
It is probably the absence of traffic and other city noises in a small town like Santiniketan that storms seem so much powerful. The howling of the winds as they play with all the trees surrounding the house, the sound of rain distorted by the water falling off the leaves, all go to make thunder and rain much more of an experience! And as the flashes of lightning get fiercer and the rumblings of thunder louder and louder, the electricity authorities switch off supply. Many of my friends and family who visit during the monsoons actually enjoy this sound and light show and are disappointed if it is sunny during their entire stay.
I am not. Disappointed I mean, with sunny days. In fact, I have come to hold them as very dear. Probably because of the abundance of stories of men struck dead by lightning from those who come from the villages and on local TV channels. Most of lightning victims are those who are working in the rice fields, those foolishly taking shelter under trees or more and more cowherds who lean against mobile phone towers as they take in the storm! But every storm, from the end of April to the end of September is prone to horror stories.
Besides morbid stories of how many people got killed by the storm, through the monsoon, everyday life becomes a trifle difficult. Because every time there is a rumbling in the sky you have to unplug expensive electric gadgets. And if you have left home when it’s sunny but it has gotten cloudy while you are sipping tea at a friend’s, you can begin to feel the need to get home in a hurry or find your TV, computer, refrigerator, microwave or inverter destroyed thanks to a surge.
I have done my own research (synthesising village folk wisdom and technical stuff thrown up by Google) and realised that there are no apparent guides of behaviour for lightning. How far away from trees is good, how tall a structure is vulnerable, do banana trees attract them more or is it palm trees?
So, much to the amusement of those around me, I finally put my money where my fear is. This monsoon I installed an arrestor on my one-storey house surrounded by tall trees. Some people have their blackberrys others their iPhones. What the hell, I have my copper arrestor!