The summer this year has been the harshest in recent memory. The afternoon siesta helps to beat the heat and reset oneself. But an earthshaking dry thunder tosses me out of my mid-day nap. The weathermen had forecast pre-monsoon showers. Then we don’t really need forecasts to sense the rains are coming.
For centuries, the monsoon had kept its date with the Malabar coast. Our ancient calendars tell us the rains would come at Edavapathi, the middle of the Malayalam month of Edavam, which falls in the first week of June. An egg-carrying ant colony heads indoors and the little frog in the cellar croaks in anticipation. The umbrella companies know it too as their advertisements get heavy rotation on TV channels.
Malabar was once synonymous with the monsoon. There was nothing here — life, culture or cuisine — that was somehow not related to the rains. The monsoon in Malabar was all about harnessing the biodynamics of nature at its best. The story goes that Mangattachan, the minister of the Zamorin of Kozhikode, advised the King against gifting black pepper saplings to the Portuguese to carry home. He feared once Europeans started cultivating pepper, the demand for the “black gold” would plummet resulting in a loss of trade. King Zamorin famously replied; “They can only carry the saplings, not our Thiruvathira Njattuvela (the 14-day mid-monsoon period, a perfect time to plant new seedlings).
Lightning and thunder are not that common for the southwest monsoon. Lately, the seasons have been behaving unpredictably. The patterns of rain have changed. The great August flood in 2018 was only just one of many aberrations. Early trends of climate change are already here. It is quite like the onset of dementia, in this case, dementia about the seasons. The month of Vrischikam is losing its chilly nights. Mango trees forget to flower on time. The Kanikkonna (Cassia fistula) blooms too early, and to deck up Vishukkani, one has to manage with wilted flowers.
The unseasonal thunderclap that now happened up above could be yet another instance of such disorientation. Season’s rhythm is faltering, and an ominous thought crosses my mind. “What if the rains forget to return for the annual sojourn!” Another thunder booms overhead drawing me out of my gloom. I come out of my room. Dark clouds have enveloped the heavens. The fiery sun beating down on the courtyard a while ago has disappeared. The overcast sky has doused the glassy-sharp rays. It’s an instant relief. My heart leaps to live the moment. The wind gains momentum. It must be raining somewhere. The wet earth’s aroma spreads around. A change of season (perhaps the quickest) is just happening right before my eyes. Yes, the seasons do change overnight!
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