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Shereen V Kottikkal

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Shereen V Kottikkal

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Holidaying with The Karkkidakam Rains
By Shereen V Kottikkal   
Rated "G" by the Author.
Last edited: Saturday, October 27, 2007
Posted: Saturday, October 27, 2007

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The Karrkiddakam rains of Kerala most notorious but replenishing

The karkkidakam rains (the karkkidakam month is acknowledged as the age of scarcity according to Malayalam calendar) had a coruscating effect on me during my holidays in kerala. The rejuvenation, the rains perpetuated had metamorphosed my emotions ameliorating my nostalgia and provoking my childhood aspirations to wander outside as heavy drops came down incessantly thereby stamping a deluge on the nature’s voracity for the incumbent monsoons. From my window, I saw a plethora of emotions on the nature’s flora and fauna as they welcomed the rains, ranging from palpitation to frustration but abhorrence was unprecedently not prevalent. The sky was mobbed with black clouds occupying the vacant slots tenaciously. The normal matting of blue and white colours were nowhere to be seen rather than that dark blue was sketched throughout the vastness of the sky. Occasionally, the lethargic clouds kept moving out paving the way for the next batch of dark clouds but at times they stammered, refusing to move out thus making the rains intermittent in nature.
The musanda plant with its stretched leaves and camouflaging chivalry impinged an enthusiasm quite paramount as its petals infringed out from the clutches that had held it during its incipient stages emancipating itself and moving out freely into the open in search for healthier, refreshing air rather than stay benign and nuke the rains until the Mother Nature’s propounded demarcatisation. The rose that promulgated to be a catharsis as with the rest of the nature’s sumptuous creations, delivered a gamut of feelings, revelry with the first drop from the skies, the alacrity sinking to despair when it became aware that the rains have no intentions to stop as a result of which it was unable to evince its resplendence to the rest of the world. The kariveeti, tall and gigantic in its splendour, kept its head high so as not to miss even the miniscule drop that impounded from the skies. The kuttimulla, the prevaricating climber, made use of this opportunity, by entwining on to the bottom of the giant kariveeti salaciously aware that the giant had its minds completely fixed on the rain. The banana tree, with its huge greenish leaves wide open striking a resemblance to a statuette with its hands stretched and directed towards the sky with an emotional plead to the almighty as never to cease this auspicious moment of their life and to keep the rhythm of the pertinacious rains as such. Its fruit, ripe and delicious, were all set to invade the markets to pertain the tastes of the traditional festival that accompanied the karrikkidakam rains in the most extravagant manner.
What had been the source of livelihood for the millions residing in kerala, a symbol elucidating the state’s reticence and congeniality, standing tall, slim figured with its head bent at the top, the coconut trees looked tired and lousy to an extent that even the rains could not bring a respite to its melancholy thanks to the foreign imports that had inundated Indian markets which struck a nail on the fortunes, the last sort of replenishment for the most ordinary agricultural community. Even the rains, quite obtrusive at times, it seemed found it amusing to tease them fully aware of the dilapidated straits they were embattling with. The mangrove that stood near my house alluded a lackadaisical attitude as they were quite capricious in their response to the rains for they had to complete a full circle of seasons to be eventually fruitful.
Prithvi lay on the car porch staring outside, with the occasional nodding of his head and quivering of lips, hesitating and unable to make a decision as the incessant rains continued their heavy downpour. Unlike most other male cats of his age, he had a long and shrivelled body, with a pointed nose occupying the major portion of his small, but shrewd face. The rains had incarcerated him as he was not able to stray outside with his mates, to stroll and trundle in the neighbour’s lawn, to hide and seek around in other’s kitchen corridors so as not to miss the cussed yells from the owners, to flirt around with the female ones and prove to be the better one among the group, the heroism sometimes quite congruous with ubiquitous cries.. When his hunger bell strikes, he makes a foray into our kitchen with great élan, even the haphazardous rains proved to be no hindrance for him, as he obsesses everyone with his immensely pleading cries and the ultimate cattish cogent style of fondling; rubbing his body on other’s legs as his tail kept an upright position, a clear indication, in the most humble manner, that the time has come for the food to be served.
Pinky kept blinking her eyes which often kept sinking deep into her face as she witnessed the first monsoon in her life. An Adorable Pomeranian dog, just three months old, this karkidikkam monsoon bought to her tribulation and woes which included separation from her mom in the budding stages of her life and thus be denied the facets of motherly love, the lullaby and pampering, a mother showered on her child with. She cuddled around and lay on the floor mat looking out with perplexity in her eyes at the not so often thunder strokes paving way for seeds of doubt eschewing in her as who is attaining such intense pleasure by spraying the water from the top, the displeasure in her being obscure when she raised her eyes with all her might to a limit where her sight could reach, that was a trifle away from her ordinary gaze, an enchanting puzzle, the curiosity fading with the deterioration of the rains.
I could see a frustration in their eyes but still I was quite sure that they never hated the rains for all of them believed that these rains cleansed them from all the wretchedness that was self perpetuating in this world of today. As Beethoven had once said that the most enticing music to one’s ears would be the sound of the rain, which made me wonder whether Beethoven would have refuted his claim, had he been to this part of the world during this season. Due to the continuous rains, the roads in front of my house turned into small puddles, with people paddling to move over through it, buses all covered to avoid the water dripping over to its passengers never bothered to slow down at theses puddles thereby splashing the water on to the people who prefer moving on their feet amid the rains, snakes losing their routine alleyways preferring not to even stick their heads out of their holes, the squirrels already prepared for the monsoon onslaught equipping their stores with provisions to last the full karkkidakkam month, and finally the old lady staying aloof who used to walk to the bus stop with her vanity on her shoulder gently pulling up her sari to avoid it getting strained and an umbrella stretched above her head. The karrkidikkam rains found it amusing that every time she unfolds her umbrella when the rain halts, so that she could balance her loosely held vanity in one hand and pull up her well groomed sari with the other, they come down surreptitiously, fully redeemed, much to the dismay of the lady but a delight to the onlookers; not because they hated her but for her massive yells at the rains.

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