Two days into freedom... the summer sun is beating as hard as he can. No signs of rain yet.
Rain in May???
Ha.. welcome to Kerala. The most successful attempt (so far) at predicting the weather here ended up in the unfortunate person hanging himself unable to bear the shame of defeat. In other countries, England for example, the weather was always a subject to start with. A nice try here would run something as follows:
Person 1: (looking at the sky)...(flinches at the blinding sun) hm...
Person 2: (ignores)
P1: (at P2) ahem?
P 1: (to himself) sad... he looks so manly to be deaf.
P2: What did u say?
P1: Nothing....*sweats* rather hot day, isnt it?
P2: (looks up at the cloudy sky) I think it's going to rain.
P1: So it is.
P1: My.. it looks too dark for 2 in the afternoon!
p2: I havent got an umbrella.. have you?
P1: Yeah, it's-
Prologue: P1 and P2 are forced to part ways and run helter skelter, while the sky above pours for all its worth.
There seems to be a perpetual 'rotation' in duty among the rain and the blessed sun. In one of those rare times when it shines brightly all the way from Monday to Sunday morning, if you listen hard at Sunday afternoon, you can almost hear the profanity from the clouds above. All of a sudden, it becomes dark as 6pm and the sky opens up, pouring out all its fury against the sun having enjoyed 'overtime'. and once it starts raining... ahh! All you can see is green and black when you look out the window (the former being the trees and the latter being their trunks).
It's been bright for over a wekk now. My chief pastime now is staying inside and laughing at people passing by on the road, imagining what a shock they would receive when drenched in an all-overwhelming fury of a summer shower. (I safely ignore the fact that I have to laugh at myself at the end of each hot day).
I finally have the afternoons to myself. From one o'clock in the afternoon, a strong breeze comes in from the west side(which ends in the sea a few kms off) and runs through the whole house. A strange, yet lovely smoky smell rises from somewhere, which reminds me of the sun beating on rain-dampened roof-tiles after monsoon. The traffic on the road in front ceases and the air becomes still, save the occasional call from the cukoo or the faraway horn of a passing train :)
How easy it is when the mind is free!
No wonder it's the same with the famous six-year old and his furry friend...