Green India on a rainy day

Greenery, floods, thunder, lightning, and rainbows are some of the things which 
one associates with the rainy season in India. In the west of India, 
Goa is no different. Working in a foreign land, Armstrong Vaz pens down 
his experiences and what he missed out on during the rainy season this 
year. 

As we reach the end of the rainy season, it is time to look at life 
during this period: the rains which we loved as kids and the things we 
did in the season. The things we miss, as we are away from the falling 
rains in a faraway land. 

The rainy season starts in June and ends in October. Rains, starting in 
the last week of May, bring with them a respite from the summer heat. 
May is the period when the school holidays end and it is back again to 
school for the children. 

The rainy season is on its last leg as we approach October. It is time 
to say goodbye to the rains as we head towards the middle of the month. 
It is time for the Goan farmers to collect the paddy from the fields. Paddy fields which turned green at the start of the rainy season in June have now turned golden. 

The rainy season blesses Mother Nature with an abundance of water and 
the greenery in the rainy season is worth going miles to see. The vast 
swathes of green paddy fields are sometimes mistaken as grass by an 
alien visitor and the reverse is also true when vast tracks of barren 
lands of wild grass are taken as paddy fields. 

Cattle graze on the grass as rains lash day in day out in the rainy 
season. Raindrops, which many Indians miss in faraway lands. Rainy days 
when floods come calling in and with the floods follows the inundation 
of the paddy fields. Flood water overflows the roads and makes them 
unsafe for driving. 

Floods, which gave us an eagerly awaited school holiday. Rainy days, 
when we use to sing the Marathi poem, urging the rain to come. Rain not 
just in a trickle but in a gush to flood the plains. 

The Marathi primary school opposite my house has since ceased to 
function, making way for a government-run library. But like me and many 
of my neighbors and classmates in school, we share many a childhood 
memories at the Marathi primary school, although I did not attend it 
myself. 

Breaking the roof tiles with a cricket ball, playing pebbles on the 
school wall and inside the gallery. It was also an indoor cricket 
stadium for us and sometimes a indoor football pitch all rolled into 
one. 

The Marathi school also dished out our first lesson of voting at the 
age of 18, ink on our fingers which we showed to our friends and well 
wishers that we had voted for the first time. 

The first rains made football a slippery exercise in the barren paddy 
fields but then falling on the ground had its own thrill. The 
continuous rains gave us extra stamina to play football. And then who 
can forget the sliding tackle, which came about not out of design but 
through the sheer slippery surface, which gave us the biggest thrill 
during rainy day football. 

On the cricket front, overcast weather meant that the ball would swing 
in the air and that was the only occasion, we could swing the ball and 
believe that we were playing in overcast English conditions. 

The rainy season was the time to burn the cashew nuts over charcoal. 
The odor of burning cashew seeds, sending odourous messages to 
neighbors far and wide. 

With many families shifting to gas stoves over burning wood, the thrill 
of having cashew nuts from the charcoal is lost these days. 

The first showers of the season invariably came during the last week of 
May or the first week of June. It was the time that we were getting 
ready for the school season and we eagerly awaited the rains but 
detested the thought of returning to our school after a long holiday of 
close to two months. 

Tradition has it that it is healthly to receive the first rain on your head. How far it holds good, I have my doubts. 

The first rains bring with them a gush of wind. A gush of wind, which 
used to bring quite a few mangoes tumbling to the ground. My favorite 
hunt was for the Mancura (a variety of mango). My highest catch in one 
day was a dozen of them. 


The rainy season was a time to catch fish in the ponds after draining 
the water and keeping it at bay through muddy embankments. I for one 
entered the muddy water once to catch fish and have never experienced 
such a thrill again. The freshwater fish which I took home as part of 
my share, was not to my liking nor of a flavor that my families 
relished. 

The rainy season was the time when the cow dung smell from the nearby 
cowshed became unbearable. A time when friends and relatives gave our 
place a skip. Their vehicles had to be washed if they visited our 
place. 

The first rains were also a time for catching frogs. Frog legs which I 
tasted for the first time as a teenager, and then fell for, only to 
give the practice a skip after realizing the damage the killing of 
frogs was doing to environment. 

Armed with a torch, knife and plastic bag we accompanied the seasoned 
campaigners to the traditional hideout of the frogs. The croaking of 
the frogs made our hunting expedition easier. 

The rainy season was the time when the ladies' umbrellas came out in 
force. The multi-colored umbrellas were a sight to behold. Men came out 
with their long black umbrellas. The workers wore special rain 
protection made from coconut palm leaves while working in the fields. 

The lightning which came also used to send a chill down our spines and 
the memory of a young couple dying in our paddy field haunted us 
whenever lighting struck. 

The multi-colored rainbow making its presence in the sky was another 
sight we used to behold. A rare occurrence, and as and when it happened 
in the sky we used to shout in excitement. 

The snakes were also driven out of their habitat when rain water 
entered their holes. They were sighted on the roads and even entered 
houses. 

The winds also brought trees down and blocked traffic, and fire brigade 
personnel would come calling in to clear the roads and sometimes come 
to the aid of people whose houses were damaged by falling trunks and 
branches. 

The rainy season is a time for festivals, and one that is eagerly 
awaited is the feast of St John the Baptist. During the festival it is 
the practice for newly married couples to hand a bottle or two of 
coconut feni, a local liquor, to the village boys celebrating the 
feast. 

It was a time for young children to have a taste of cashew feni. Feni 
burned over a candle and given in a tablespoon drove away the cold 
blues. Cashew feni, is still a medicine used to get rid of colds and 
coughs for many a Goan in the rainy season. 

The celebration ended with a litany and whatever money was left from 
the donations were gathered and then given to the local church or the 
local clubs in the evening 

In the rainy season the beaches become deserted and so are the 
restaurants on the beach. Only a few function. Foreign tourists too are 
few in number, with the sun playing hide and seek in the rainy season. 

As we travel far away from our native land, we miss the greenery, the 
people and all the things we relished in our childhoods. But then you 
have to forsake some things in pursuit of new experience and 
challenges.