Re-Discovering India #1 : The Monsoon

A friend who is returning to India after many years in the U.S recently posted this on his blog 'Brick and Rope'. I enjoyed the post so much that I am copying it here, with his permission, of course (Thanks, J).

Re-Discovering India #1 : The Monsoon

"Re-Discovering India": Facts about India that I either - (a) never knew, (b) never appreciated, or (c) once knew and appreciated, but have since forgotten - the distinction between the three flavors being mostly semantic. Contemplating my eager homecoming, I find myself getting re-acquainted with these old friends.
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In two days, I will pack my bags, and get on the interminably long Air India flight from New York, Mumbai bound. At about the same time, some hundreds of billions of molecules of air and water currently residing above the Indian Ocean will decide, all at once, with dramatic suddenness and unremitting decisiveness, that they too like the warm lanes of Mumbai and heartland India better than their cold, wet, oceanic hosts. Without so much as an Expedia search, they will set off on their long journey, these fickle winds, to keep their annual appointment with the subcontinent. The first of these guests will arrive in Kerala around the 1st of June - dark, rumbling, and gloriously, ominously wet. The monsoon will be here.

It was only a few days ago that I realized my arrival in Mumbai is going to coincide with that of the monsoon. Seven years of scrupulously avoided rains had dulled my memory of them, but those faint echoes from the past were enough to cause some flutters in the present. My first concern was for my daughter, the sheltered child who has only seen rain in sputtering, playful moods. Even the 'thunder storms' the local weather channel warned of occasionally would be no more than a few hours of pouring rain accompanied by the periodic clap of thunder, the fitful lightning, and then a glorious rainbow. An inconvenience, sure. A dampener of picnic plans. But not something to fear. Not an angry, malevolent God.


I try to prepare her for what lies ahead. I tell her about the rain, the unceasing wetness. "But appa", she says with the touching certitude of a child, "if it rains, I can wear my raincoat when I go out to play!" No my darling, you can not. No raincoat can stand up to the fury of the monsoon. Ask the many dispirited Duckbacks of my childhood. Each met a monsoon, and didn't have the pleasure of meeting another.

[Quick primer on the monsoon for those who, like me, only remember enough from high school science to mumble random keywords when the topic comes up: Super hot summers in the sub-continent and the Thar desert cause air over central and northern India to become considerably hot, and hence create low pressure. Cooler - and hence high pressure - air from over the Indian Ocean rushes in to fill the low pressure area, carrying a load of moisture with it. The winds are blocked by the Himalayas, rise up because of it, cooling as they rise. Water precipitates, it rains - the southwest monsoon. Now, why all this gets initiated suddenly on June 1 every year is beyond me, but there you have it.

Around September, the sun has moved south, the subcontinent and northern lands get cooler, the Indian Ocean air is still hot, the winds rapidly get into reverse gear and go right back. On the way, they pick up some moisture from the Bay of Bengal, and dump it over some of the southern cities like Chennai (which gets, I understand, about 70% of its precipitation from this retreating, or northeast monsoon). End of science class.]

So, how wet is the monsoon? Here is a comparison that surprised me perhaps more than it should have. First, take a look at the average rainfall received every month in temperate Washington DC.


Data from Weather.com

Steady as she goes, right? 2.5 to 3.5 inches of rain every month, all through the year, for an average annual rainfall of 35-40 inches.

Now compare this with Mumbai's average rainfall, with the same scale on the y-axis:


Data from weather.com

See the difference in the skyline? It is dry as a bone for eight months of the year. But between June and September, it pours like like no four-year old girl in Washington DC has seen. Average annual rainfall: 85-95 inches.

As I was saying, the monsoons are monstrously wet. When I see clogged roads and overwhelmed sewage systems in Mumbai come July, I will try and remember this chart. The poor city is receiving, in one soggy quarter, more than twice the rain that relatively wet Washington DC receives the entire year! Give the poor sewers a break, will you - future, frustrated me?



The monsoon hits the Kerala coast with dramatic suddenness and punctuality, on or around June 1 every year. This year, the Indian Meteorological Department, with their customary bravado, have stuck their neck out and made the bold prediction that the onset of the monsoon over Kerala would occur 'around May 31'. Whew! That was hard work, wasn't it folks? You can now sit back and start your sophisticated calculations for next year thank you very much.

The scenes in Kerala around this time are stunning, to state the obvious - nature resplendently blooming. As I have been looking this up over the last few days, I have found nature pictures whose sublime beauty defies mere verbal descriptions. Look at this photo blog for some spectacular examples. Interesting fact about the New India of course, is that entrepreneurs, bless their hearts, have found ways to make honest money around this spectacle of nature. NatureNest is one of the companies that offers Kerala tour packages tailored for what they call "monsoon tourism". Alappuzha, Kochi, Kumarakom, Thekkadi ...: 'watch the swaying paddy fields', 'backwater cruise on Punnamada Kayal', 'bamboo rafting in Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary' ... mouthwatering promises of natural beauty in God's own country. Note to self: sights of India I would like to see - add to list.

So, where was I? Ah, yes, Mr. Monsoon: Mumbai. June. You, me, four year old daughter. No raincoats, no umbrellas. Just mano a mano. Date?

By,
J

Swarathma

I heard a band called ‘Swarathma’ a few weeks ago and really liked their act. Note, I said their act, which is much more than just their music, for these guys are entertainers and have to be watched on-stage. Part of the experience of listening to ‘Swarathma’ consists of their music, which is an eclectic mix of rock, Indian folk music, Carnatic and jazz. Their on-stage attire (as you can see in this poster) is as varied as the sources of their style of music and adds to the ‘rock mela’ effect of their sound; ditto for Vasu’s on-stage antics and dances such as the prance in the ghodi costume.

The sarcastic commentary on contemporary social and political issues ensures that one listens carefully to the lyrics song after song, especially to guitarist Jishnu’s introductions and interjections, delivered in an absolutely brilliant dehati accent.














p.s. Links to some of their songs below :
‘Topiwale’ – about politics and politicians; 'Yeshu Allah Krishna' - about religion and ‘devotional athyachaar’ (wish I had thought of this phrase);'Ee Bhoomi' - here and here; and
‘Jaane kahan hai mujhe’

Information from Wikipedia for those who want to know more about the band :

Swarathma is a Bangalore (India) based Indian Folk/fusion band. The current line up features Vasu Dixit (vocals and rhythm guitar), Pavan Kumar KJ (percussion and backing vocals), Montry Manuel (drums), Varun (lead guitar), Sanjeev Nayak (violin) and Jishnu Dasgupta (bass guitar and backing vocals).


The first break for Swarathma came when they won Radio City Live 2006, an SMS based contest for Bangalore's best band, conducted by the FM radio station Radio City on September 31, 2006[4]. The fresh original sound of the band won them the contest coupled with the fact that they played a song "Ee Bhoomi" (This Earth) in Kannada, the local language of Bangalore

They released their debut album on Virgin Records on January 5, 2009, supporting it with a nationwide tour. They were featured on the Soundpad compilation of Indian music that released in May 2009, in support of which they toured the UK along with three other Indian band.

In Anticipation

(waiting for the rains)

Monsoon is the best time for trekking in the Sahayadris. Though the rain makes the downhill route slippery and a bit tricky to negotiate, it is more than made up by the rain – drenched hills shrouded in mist, the clouds and the numerous small waterfalls and streams that spring up all over.

I went with Odati on two perfect monsoon treks last year – to Manikgad and Surgad. Both were short hikes and just right for a relaxed Sunday – a 3.5 hr amble uphill at Manikgad and a 2.5 hr walk at Surgad. The only patch of slightly difficult terrain was the the last patch at Surgad which is steep and slippery and requires concentration. While the rain evaded us at Manikgad, in Surgad we got caught in a downpour that was full ‘paisa-vasool’ and thoroughly enjoyed it. Both treks had lush greenery and long wavy grass rippling in the breeze.

Both places we had a local guide in addition to the Odati team; apart from showing us the way, they added to overall entertainment levels with their eccentric personalities. I have a sneaky suspicion, though, that these villagers might have a similar reason for agreeing to guide us – not for the money, but to observe these wimpy weird townfolk and have funny stories to tell their families over dinner.

The Maamaa at Manikgad was strong ‘n silent and quite a disciplinarian. On the way up the final portion, whenever we halted to catch our breath, he would stop ahead of us, look down at us and make clicking noises with his teeth to hurry us up – the kind villagers make to hurry along cattle in the fields ! Like all such maamaa’s I have seen, the fact that we were paying him made no difference to his bindaas attitude and behaviour. As we had oodles of time to enjoy the view from the peak, we intended to snooze for about an hour after eating lunch but he would have none of it. He woke us up in 20-30 minutes and herded us down, saying that he was worried it would soon rain heavily and we would be stuck there. As he had earlier confidently predicted a dry morning when we thought dark clouds heralded rain, we decided he might be right this time too and clambered down the hill lickety-split.

The Maamaa at Surgad had even more impressive weather prediction skills. A lean, stringy weather-beaten guy over 70 monsoons old, he would predict when it would rain down to the last half hour (maybe the MET office should hire him!) and his reading of the clouds was right more often than not. He was as much of a disciplinarian as the Manikgad Maamaa, but his style was to shame you into hurrying, rather than to herd you. Halfway up the hill, when we stopped for 5-10 minutes at a nice meadow, he proudly told us that he could ascend and descend the hill in less than an hour, which was less than the time it had taken us to reach the halfway point; you can bet we walked faster after that.

All these Monsoon maamaa’s interpret suggestions of alternative routes as mutiny and tend to mulishly insist that you take exactly the path they prefer – maybe it comes from a lifetime of being the undisputed head of the family and getting unquestioning obedience. Our Surgad maamaa had the same attitude towards dissent, except that he was also an expert at psychological warfare. When he didn’t want to climb right to the very peak, rather than argument and obstinacy, he used the tell-tales-of-townsfolk-who-would-not-listen-and-suffered-painful-accidents solution. Quite a storyteller, he relished multiple retellings of the tale of women from Mumbai getting stuck at the peak during a downpour, almost falling all the way down while descending and finally having to be lowered down on ropes. He was quite effective too, we convinced ourselves that the hills, the fort walls and the stone relics scattered around were sufficient adventure and there couldn’t be anything better to see at the peak.

By,
Zenobia

Lost in Translation - II

More gems from the wonderful book we dipped into two weeks ago . This time, in order to provide some variation, will first give the translated version and then the original English – in future, spare some sympathy for hapless foreigners interacting with Indians using guides such as this one.

Easy stuff first – words and short phrases :

“Bunny-aan”
A banian or a vest, not a request concerning a playmate.
“Iddar deck-o” (Did I hear someone say, “Aye Aye Cap’n” ? )
“Idhar dekho” or “Look here”
“Chore doe”
“Leave it”
“Doe-pahar kay kah-nay kay pie-lay aow.”
Come before lunch.

Somehow, the placid ‘ao’ is always transformed into an anguished ‘aow’ in this book.
“Challay Jaow”
Go away.
“Idder aow.”
“Come here.”
“Mutt jaow.”
“Don’t go.”
“Ya chahn-dee chum-kaow.”
“Polish this silver”
“Sum-jaow.”
“Explain”
“Wakt per aow.” (my favourite, implies regular disciplining. Maybe for unsatisfactory explanations.)
“Come in time”
“Gun-tea budge-aow” (!!)
“Ring the bell”

And what might be the explanation for the poor translations :
“Maiyn bill-cool teak na-heehn hoohn.”
“I am not too well.

Amen.

Complied and laboriously typed out by,
Zen.
p.s. Venky, thanks a ton for lending me the book.

I'm Lovin it !

Five reasons for loving the book :

1. The title : ‘Zenobia – the curious book of business’
2. The description : ‘A book of triumph over Yes-Men, Cynics, Hedgers, and other Corporate Killjoys’
3. The question marks scattered topsy- turvy all over the cover
4. The stance the heroine adopts as she gazes at the question marks, and what it implies about her no-nonsense attitude
5. Her glorious red shoes and red-striped socks, on her first day at a new job !




While I relish the title of the book, in all honesty I must let you know that the Zenobia in the title is a once-mighty corporation bedevilled by paralysing hierarchies, grossly inadequate communications, distrust and over-reliance on stultifying rules.

Into this mess steps Moira, a young lady responding to a help-wanted ad that directs her to room 133A. Except that nobody knows where the room is, there are no directions or signs either. Her journey through the Zenobian maze is filled with obstacles such as twisted ladders with missing rungs, a tight-rope walk, people that heckle, scorn and discourage her, a room full of power-pointers endlessly revising slides with old data etc.

A reviewer described this book as ‘Harry Potter meets bureaucracy’. While I wouldn’t go that far, I will admit that it’s a rollicking ride !

(I didn’t write this book, but I wish I had).
Zen.
p.s. Rads, thanks for the book.