Rains have a charm of their own, and everyone has a reason to welcome them. They bring hope to the farmer, provide relief to a populace oppressed by the preceding summer heat, and earn a silent thank you from the parched trees in our gardens.
The Indian peninsula witnesses a dance of joy as the summer recedes and ocean winds usher in the monsoon. This seasonal shift, which decides the fate of the nation, makes it’s grand entry at the southwestern tip of India. Kerala is where this spectacular journey begins.
As if guided by a heavenly clock, the rain traditionally arrives on the first of June. A delay of even a day or two sets the old-timers’ eyebrows raising. The newer generation, however, has grown accustomed to glitches in this clock, courtesy of changing climate patterns. One might think the rains hitting Kerala are impolite guests; they start with a bang, offering no slight drizzles to give you time to prepare. Yet, they are gentlemen at heart—they keep their word and arrive on time. What more could you want?
Kerala is a blessed piece of land. Always covered in a vibrant carpet of green, it is nature in it’s finest clothing. Lush fields blanket the earth while coconut trees line up, craning their necks to look for the sun and standing in style around the fields. They all wait expectantly for the smell of fresh earth as the first showers arrive
It is out there in the towns and villages that life changes gear.
The mornings bring with them the rush to get about. The bus‑stands welcome the office goers. The sky is grey, the overnight rain has left it’s signature. The trees are dripping. The walls around those cute houses lining the roads are glistening.
The clouds gather again, after having rested for some time in the darkness of the night before. The rest has given the clouds some energy. The rain picks up speed, and then the wonder happens.
The humble human companion takes center stage — the umbrella.
Umbrellas open up. The people waiting for the bus reach into their bags and pull out black umbrellas. The kids walking to school pull out their colorful ones. The carpenter and the brick mason emerging from the alley and heading to work have their “kudas” as they are called in Malayalam open. They join the busier road and get merge seamlessly into the camouflage of umbrellas on the road.
That wet morning on the country roads of Kerala is all about a delightful dance of unfurling umbrellas. They come popping out like a timelapse video of mushrooms emerging out of the damp earth. The rhythm is unmistakable and the pitter patter of the raindrops landing on the fabric is celestial music.
The umbrella is probably the most revolutionary invention that has gone unacknowledged. As far back as the 11th century, people especially in China used paper and bamboo canopies.
On the cobbled streets of Paris, lovers walk arm in arm under it.
In the mist-lined alleys of Yorkshire, the gracefully aged granny carries it to the nearest library.
The farmer in the fields of Vietnam wears it like a hat. In the dust and grime of the African hinterlands, it saves lives.
In Japan, everyone carries it, rain or no rain.
But in this laid back state in South India, it is a celebration.
The elderly have the large ones with handles like a walking stick. The young adults carry foldable ones, the pinnacle of modern, convenient design. The children carry the brightest ones — pink, blue, green, every conceivable shade. Some have pictures of cats and dogs, some of superheroes.
It is a big market, this. Ads start running a week before the monsoons come. With almost 120 days of rain, it is no wonder that almost 50% of umbrellas sold in India are sold in Kerala.
The ad jingles are imaginative and the arrival of ads on the television is a better way to predict rains that the weather bureau.
The rain brings joy and the children under the colorful umbrellas are beaming at life. The walk to school is exactly as the journey of life should be.
Slow but with a spring in the steps.
One step at a time, kicking into puddles and getting their shirts wet as the rain drops slant in the rain.
It turns a gloomy, grey morning into a living, breathing musical, leaving you humming that 1960 classic sung by Lata Mangeshkar
O sajana barkha bahar aayi
Ras ki puhaar layi, ankhiyon mein pyar layi.
(Oh my beloved! The rain’s have come, bringing a shower of nectar and love to my eyes.)
Time for some hot coffee.
Hi I am Sudhir. I run three very different corners of the digital world. On India Wayfarer, I share document my travels and life as it unfolds around us. Stories of ancient engineering marvels, forgotten trails, and timeless architecture. You will also find me at Sportz Corner, where I write on football, cricket, and anything sport. And then there’s The Wrinkled Memo, where I pencil in my thoughts , sometimes satirical, from a three decade long life in the corporate jungle.
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