Hello... is it raining there?

I sat excitedly in the train as the train thundered through the darkness of the night from Chennai to Trivandrum. It was almost symbolic. I was leaving behind the dust, pollution and heat of Chennai to the wet roads, green trees and mayflowers of Kerala. The book on my lap remained unturned in the page for a long time.

I was dealt out a generous helping of lousy relatives. If you know any Malayali who’s terrible- they are related to me. Across religions, caste and regions.

But the sheer beauty of the countryside made me return every year. Kumarakom was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. When the cold structure of the Taj failed to move my cold heart, when the snow at Manali failed to amaze me; Kumarakom brought out that special feeling- of finally having found what I was looking for. If you manage to ignore the number of white people- I can do it- I am from Pondicherry; the expensive prices on the menu- I can, I have a pretty well off family; and can shell out close to 20 K for two nights on a house boat- it’s the prettiest experience. I am buying a houseboat in Kerala… one day… someday…

Kumarakom… that’s another story... for another time…

I reached Trivandrum. Disheveled and tired from staying awake the whole night- I don’t sleep too well when I travel.

I stayed in Trivandrum for two days. It was almost as bad as Chennai. The heat was oppressive and turned the milk and me sour. Rain wasn’t in the horizon.

“It’s raining here sweetheart”, my cousin told me. I took the train to Kollam. I reached a very wet railway station. Wet umbrellas welcomed me. Something was wrong though. The umbrellas weren’t opened. It had just stopped raining…



“It’ll begin again”, my cousin told me when he saw the drooping curve of my mouth.

I didn’t have the time. It was a week’s trip and I had to get back. Two days in Kollam. The clouds were low and heavy with rain. Too heavy to even move. But they didn’t break open with the rain they carried inside. Umbrellas were carried wherever we went. But we never used it.

I left Kollam, my heart almost as heavy as the clouds. I reached Cochin. My entire family knew my obsession with the rain. Cochin. My favorite place in Kerala.

Consoling words from another cousin, “It wasn’t raining here at all. Not just because you came”

What was remaining of the week was spent in Jayalakshmi, Seemati, Marine drive and Subash park. Lots of tapioca, jackfruit, unni appams, palada pradhaman, boli and ela appams. My aunt believed in fattening me up, it never happened though.

Ernakulam railway station. Water bottles were bought. I could smell the banana chips that we just bought. I hoped it wouldn’t pass on the thing to my clothes. I didn’t want to walk around smelling like banana chips.

“Dinner’s the red bag.” “Throw away the entire thing after eating.” “Use the tissues.” “Wipe your nose”, the regular railway-platform-parting statements were made. No one ever said, “Write to me”, I pondered. “Mail me” yes, but those letters on the hand made paper of the Ashram at Pondicherry in which I wrote my letters had stopped years ago. Microsoft word had replaced those pale white papers. Sometimes it was notepad. And then the purple window of my yahoo. Click on ‘send’. No brown clothed postman. No bicycle bells tringing. No looking at the pretty stamps. No slitting open the letters carefully, I preserved the covers too for a long time…

I was so caught up on what I was thinking that I lost out on what was being told. That happens very often. But this was another sensory organ calling me altogether. I looked at my arm. A splattered drop of water on it. I looked accusingly at my cousin. He wasn’t around. A few more fell. It was raining...

The train pulled in. It was human nature to rush in. I knew that the train stopped at Ernakulam for a long time and that I had a ticket. My cousin came running with a few bars of chocolate and “I almost forgot!”

I watched the rain for 15 minutes. It was raining with a pent up fury. I climbed into the III Ac that we’d booked. Windows that were closed to shut out the heat. This time it was the rain.



I stood in the doorway. I was getting wet. I didn’t care. I stood there feeling sick and miserable. Tears fell on from my eyes.

“Go inside”, my aunt yelled from the side of the platform where the canopy ended and the rain began.

I waved at them. I was getting wetter and wetter by the minute. They could see that I was crying. It was a first. I never cried when I came back…

My aunt ran from the protection of the asbestos sheets at station towards me. She held my hand and said, “Don’t cry baby. You can come again soon. Or we’ll come and see you at Pondicherry”

I nodded my head, my face all screwed up with tears. Miserabler coz they thought I was crying coz I was leaving them. Miserabler coz it wasn’t human to feel an attachment for the rain than for one’s own family…