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God's soaked country

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Geetanjali Krishna New Delhi
I used to think I liked the rain. The idea of raindrops thrumming gently on the window and long drives through rain-soaked countryside used to bring a smile upon my lips and a song in my...you get the general drift.
 
So when we decided to holiday in Kerala in the end of May this year, just a week before the monsoon was predicted to arrive, I was quite enthusiastic at the prospects of wet weather. Or so I thought.
 
The plane was bucking like an ill-tempered horse as we tried to descend through layer upon layer of clouds to Kochi. "Just a spot of bad weather," the pilot said, altogether too cheerfully, "the monsoons, as you can see from the cloud cover we are presently trying to pierce, have hit Kerala a week early... hope you've all got your umbrellas ready!"
 
We tottered out of the aircraft, happy to finally be on terra firma, and were greeted by cool winds. "No wonder Kerala Tourism is promoting monsoon holidays in the state!" said my husband. "This definitely beats the hot and humid weather I expected to find."
 
At first opportunity, we hit Kochi's Jew Town, its cobbled lanes a little wet but the weather otherwise perfect. A weak ray of sunlight touched my face as I looked with delicious anticipation at the quaint antiques shops leading up to the synagogue. A perfect start to a holiday, thought I. Just then a fat drop hit me square on my cheek. Before I could say "it's raining!" "" it was.
 
Rain in God's Own Country is very different from rain elsewhere, we found. Deep blue skies with bits of sunlight streaming through puffy clouds can instantly be replaced by black clouds and rains so heavy that that it feels like invisible hands are pouring buckets of water down on you. But our holiday had just begun; we weren't going to let a spot of rain bother us.
 
So I spent a happy 15 minutes drooling over some old Tanjore paintings inside a shop. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rain stopped. The blue skies and puffy clouds with bits of sunlight streaming through were back. We stepped out, and minutes later it was pouring again.
 
We finally squelched back to the hotel, soggy and defeated by the quirky weather. The only thing I ended up buying that day was an umbrella "" but then, to look at the bright side, antiques can't keep you dry, can they?
 
The next day we were on the backwaters sailing in a boat with a cane-trellised deck and a traditional brass prow. Palms swayed gently in the breeze, villages by the waterside looked almost picture-perfect and the open sea ahead looked as calm as the proverbial millpond.
 
There were dark clouds, but too far, it seemed, to rain on us. Then we realised we were inexorably moving towards them. Minutes later, everything and everyone was wet in varying degrees. "Observe the clouds, children," said my mother-in-law bracingly, "you won't ever get to see such ferocious rain in Delhi!"
 
The children huddled together, cold and wet, looking rather grateful for the fact. This time when the rain ceased suddenly, we weren't surprised. But we spent the remaining time in the boat looking wonderingly at the skies.
 
Our next halt was Munnar. "Is it raining there too?" I asked. In reply, I received the all-purpose Kerala nod. I took it to mean no, but was I wrong! For Munnar stands next to only Cherrapunji for the amount of rainfall it receives. Inevitably, we were greeted by the now-familiar sheets of rain trying their best to beat us to the ground.
 
Tucked between tea estates and spice plantations, Munnar is as spectacularly pretty as it can get. So, undeterred by the rain lashing the windows, my mother-in-law asked the waiter, "What are the places we should see in Munnar?" He scratched his head doubtfully: "There is a landslide on one side, Madam, while another road has been blocked by a fallen tree..." he began.
 
"We don't want to see all that," she interrupted, "we want to admire Munnar's scenic beauty!" From the look on his face, it was clear that he felt the only viable way to do that was to look out of the window.
 
The resort was full of tourists who, like us, had been surprised by the early onset of rains. Like us, they also had the same bright ideas for indoor entertainment. So there was a week-long wait for Kerala massage, the gyms were overflowing and even the beauty parlour was full-booked.
 
Eventually the rain abated, we rushed out to walk in the tea gardens. The rain craftily waited for us to reach the top of the hill, no shelter around for miles, before it began.
 
A word from the wise: umbrellas merely offer a certain psychological defense against the rain in Munnar. Usually, the rain cunningly slants so that the umbrella keeps only parts of one's head dry.
 
At other times, the wind accompanying the rain ferociously upturns the umbrella in seconds, leaving you looking foolish ... and very wet. Instead, local rainbusters wear plastic sheeting over regular clothes, and a cape-like raincoat over everything. And caps or scarves covered by shower caps, all hidden under large umbrellas, ensure their heads stay dry.
 
Eventually we returned home, suitcases full of wet sneakers, damp clothes...and water-logged memories of the monsoon in Kerala. It was fun for a week, but I don't think we'd have lasted any longer there!

 

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First Published: Jun 17 2006 | 12:00 AM IST

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