It's funny how time and distance change you, the roads you take don't always lead you home.
I have yet to fully grasp the seasons in India. I though I understood that winter meant it was a boiling, dry 90 degrees. Where babies were dressed in miniature fleece sleeping bags and men wore ski masks to keep from getting “cold.” Although I found this comical, I have come to find myself chilly at night, when the temperature dips down to a crisp 60 degrees. I will even admit that yesterday I wore a sweater to class. I fit in with the locals more than any other day, when I dote traditional Indian garb.
Every day the temperature creeps slightly closer to 100, testing my limits of the weather while I test my spice limits at meal time. I thought I understood the weather patterns–as the heat rises into the summer 120’s, monsoon season would be quickly after, pouring rain onto the cracked dirt roads. I thought I wouldn’t see rain, or mangos, or Diwali. Luckily for me, the first of the three miraculously occurred today. And although I cannot change the date of a national holiday, maybe mangos will surprise me with their presence towards the end of my stay.
Unrelated photo–Madhuri and Keddy walking through Melkote. Some of the amazing, lasting friends I have made this past month.
Hyderabad was blessed with a spring rain that intoxicated the campus with pure glee. By that I mean we ran through through the open courtyards feeling the sprinkling warm rain on our arms and faces. What we believed to be a miracle. I am experiencing global warming in an entirely different sense of the word. It has been unseasonable chilly here and this pollution induced climate change has caused it to rain out of season. After learning what caused the rain, it was a lot less serene to have the polluted water cleanse your skin.
The warmth of the day and the moist land gave way to a perfect after spring rain smell–I was tempted to bottle and sell it to Yankee Candle for my own personal profit. With all the intoxicating smells of this country, the purity of rain reminded me of the simplicity and awe that can arise from the seemingly normal. Remember to be amazed by the rain; even if it has been spattering your window for days. Take advantage of the time better spent sipping tea engrossed in a novel. These are the moments that come from the simplicity of raindrops parading on the rooftops. I will make new associations with the rain here, more specifically mud puddles and the joyous sounds of drops hitting a tin roof.
I have moved from my traditional inside post in the community room, to the balcony where a rolling, dry thunder storm has begun. Lightning cracks and thunder sounds while sweet, warm air fills my lungs. It reminds me of a summer evening, yet here I am halfway around the world. Reassured by the weather, the moon, the stars, that this is the same sky above, just a new land underneath waiting to be experienced.