The thunder booms across the night sky. Its deep bass drums within every cell of my body, and echoes through the emptiness of the world. Lightning flashes: it is a visual reminder of reverence and fear, of life and death, of creation and destruction. Another deep crackle of thunder follows, vibrating the sinews of my chest, it resonates within me. I silence the noises around me, to listen, to feel, to breath. The senses take me back, a long way back.
Emotions: Storms are beautiful. They are feared, for they approach with relentless fury, ravage the landscape, and leave no stone unturned... then the calm after the storm is felt, and new life is abound. I have marveled at storms my entire life. Played in them, run in them, cried and laughed and shared moments in this cathartic moment of nature.
Friendship: It was a summer thunder storms and my friend and I ventures out to experience it, running in the rain in shorts and a t shirt, barefoot. It was warm, and the rain cooled our skin. We were afraid, but here we stood facing nature itself, or so it seemed. The wind howled, the thunder boomed in its deep voice telling us to go inside, and the lightning struck earth with grate force. We clung to one another experiencing all these emotions. We closed our eyes... and woke up in dry clothes and a wet pillows.
The Monsoons: In Madras the monsoon came at the end of summer. However we would experience many cyclones. They seemed to last forever. I do remember the flooding that occurred with the never ending showers. Our little 'premier padmini fiat' would get stuck in the floods, and we would not be able to reach school some days. Other days when we did reach school, we would all wait to go run and get wet in the rain. We were always scolded for getting wet in the rain. Why is it that adults think rain makes us sick, when it is the life giving source for everything? The beauty of getting wet in the rain was our hair would drip soaking wet, and our clothes would stick to our skin. Madras is hot, so this cooling was welcomed by us. As the adults would saunter about with their fancy umbrellas! Who needed those!? We ran and played and got scolded, it was all worth it.
Paper boats: when the road would get flooded, the drainage would make streams and so on, I would watch the little streams join this big river which in turn joined the actual river down the way. I would elaborate paper ships and boats, launching them into the flood of streams. I would watch them float until they were out of my sight, then in my little heart of hearts, I would imagine myself navigating those rough waters with all my might in that paper boat, and taking it into the river and then into the sea. I would sleep contently that night. A week later when the waters would subside finally, I would find my little paper boat in a sorrowful condition on the side of the street tangled with branches and bricks. They never got far, no matter how hard I steered the ship in my imagination.
The Kalbaishakhi: The heat is unbearable, and the air is hot and muggy. No one wants to move. Sweat. Sluggish. The air is still, the humidity hangs in the hot air like an uncomfortable silence, sweat forms, but does not not roll down, the city sky is dull as usual. The heat is blasting all the greenery that would have otherwise existed. Suddenly one day rolling black clouds appear. There is a stillness. Yet again suddenly as they gallop closer, there is a cool strong breeze picking up. Faster and faster as the horse runs, then the thundering hooves can be heard. Fearful as it seems, it is so welcomed to the city. Relief is felt. The coconut trees bend and sway with the forceful rain and powerful wind. There is damage beyond repair elsewhere as we begin to hear. In the here and now, it is welcomed. The heat is lifted, and there is a peace. Lush green comes back to the dusty city. Until the monsoons, this is the rain we await.
The Embodiment: There will come a day when the storm shall encompass me, and I the storm. I shall cloak myself in her swirly clouds. I shall withdraw into her vigor, I shall storm across the earth with her zeal and power, to prove my point. Thus shall my exuberance be known...
(photo credit: Saunak Chabri on Ibibio, and remote sensed imagery of Cyclone Nargis–image courtesy of CIMSS - http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/intersection/2008/04/28/a-scary-storm-developing-in-the-north-indian-basin/)
Emotions: Storms are beautiful. They are feared, for they approach with relentless fury, ravage the landscape, and leave no stone unturned... then the calm after the storm is felt, and new life is abound. I have marveled at storms my entire life. Played in them, run in them, cried and laughed and shared moments in this cathartic moment of nature.
Friendship: It was a summer thunder storms and my friend and I ventures out to experience it, running in the rain in shorts and a t shirt, barefoot. It was warm, and the rain cooled our skin. We were afraid, but here we stood facing nature itself, or so it seemed. The wind howled, the thunder boomed in its deep voice telling us to go inside, and the lightning struck earth with grate force. We clung to one another experiencing all these emotions. We closed our eyes... and woke up in dry clothes and a wet pillows.
The Monsoons: In Madras the monsoon came at the end of summer. However we would experience many cyclones. They seemed to last forever. I do remember the flooding that occurred with the never ending showers. Our little 'premier padmini fiat' would get stuck in the floods, and we would not be able to reach school some days. Other days when we did reach school, we would all wait to go run and get wet in the rain. We were always scolded for getting wet in the rain. Why is it that adults think rain makes us sick, when it is the life giving source for everything? The beauty of getting wet in the rain was our hair would drip soaking wet, and our clothes would stick to our skin. Madras is hot, so this cooling was welcomed by us. As the adults would saunter about with their fancy umbrellas! Who needed those!? We ran and played and got scolded, it was all worth it.
Paper boats: when the road would get flooded, the drainage would make streams and so on, I would watch the little streams join this big river which in turn joined the actual river down the way. I would elaborate paper ships and boats, launching them into the flood of streams. I would watch them float until they were out of my sight, then in my little heart of hearts, I would imagine myself navigating those rough waters with all my might in that paper boat, and taking it into the river and then into the sea. I would sleep contently that night. A week later when the waters would subside finally, I would find my little paper boat in a sorrowful condition on the side of the street tangled with branches and bricks. They never got far, no matter how hard I steered the ship in my imagination.
The Kalbaishakhi: The heat is unbearable, and the air is hot and muggy. No one wants to move. Sweat. Sluggish. The air is still, the humidity hangs in the hot air like an uncomfortable silence, sweat forms, but does not not roll down, the city sky is dull as usual. The heat is blasting all the greenery that would have otherwise existed. Suddenly one day rolling black clouds appear. There is a stillness. Yet again suddenly as they gallop closer, there is a cool strong breeze picking up. Faster and faster as the horse runs, then the thundering hooves can be heard. Fearful as it seems, it is so welcomed to the city. Relief is felt. The coconut trees bend and sway with the forceful rain and powerful wind. There is damage beyond repair elsewhere as we begin to hear. In the here and now, it is welcomed. The heat is lifted, and there is a peace. Lush green comes back to the dusty city. Until the monsoons, this is the rain we await.
The Embodiment: There will come a day when the storm shall encompass me, and I the storm. I shall cloak myself in her swirly clouds. I shall withdraw into her vigor, I shall storm across the earth with her zeal and power, to prove my point. Thus shall my exuberance be known...
(photo credit: Saunak Chabri on Ibibio, and remote sensed imagery of Cyclone Nargis–image courtesy of CIMSS - http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/intersection/2008/04/28/a-scary-storm-developing-in-the-north-indian-basin/)
