There is no season like the Goan monsoon. It all begins towards the end of May, when Goa swelters under the scorching summer sun.
The earth, dry and even cracked, screams for relief; the trees droop, their leaves dusty and brown; canines sit beneath the shade of the mango tree, their tongues lolling out, tired, listless and eyelids drooping; while birds cheerlessly attempt to chirp.
Three months of blistering heat and high humidity levels have sapped the energy out of all living beings.
Then comes June. In the distance, the clouds darken, the breeze strengthens into a wind. The farmer looks up at the firmament above.
The roll of thunder is heard in the distance and flashes of lightning momentarily illuminate the skyline.
As the sounds of thunder grow louder, and the lightning streaks hit closer, there come the first drops of rain. And then, it happens all at once; the steady pitter-patter of raindrops, as they fall to earth, is heard.
It starts as a sprinkle, and very suddenly, turns into a torrent, drenching the entire land.
As the sounds of thunder grow louder, and the lightning streaks hit closer, there come the first drops of rain. And then, it happens all at once; the steady pitter-patter of raindrops, as they fall to earth, is heard.
The parched earth sighs with pleasure, and from it, emerges the welcome whiff of petrichor. A deep breath of that fragrance that tickles the nostrils, but once a year, and you know that summer is only temporary, and that the monsoon will always follow.
Dogs yelp and prance about in joy, stopping only to shake off the excess water on their backs before continuing their merry dance.
Birds flutter about drinking the water collected in puddles, the trees wave their thanks, shaking their branches to the rhythm of the wind, their leaves washed green.
Croaking their delight, frogs emerge from hibernation, springing all over the green fields. The farmer yokes the plough to his cattle and leads them to the field. The monsoons have arrived to a thunderous welcome.
For four months, during which, the clouds pour their stored-up water onto the land, Goa is a joy to behold. As far as the eye can see, nature appears to have been washed clean, and there exists a feeling of pure abundance.
The hills come alive in various shades of green, and verdant fields that line the roads begin to sprout paddy.
For four months, during which, the clouds pour their stored-up water onto the land, Goa is a joy to behold. As far as the eye can see, nature appears to have been washed clean, and there exists a feeling of pure abundance.
It is a picture postcard frame, sending shutterbugs into a frenzy, shooting pictures of a rainy day that can be posted on social media, and ogled at yearningly on a hot summer’s day.
The monsoon transforms not just the land that drinks up the gallons of water that pour from the heavens, and on a rainy evening, people bite into hot bhajias (onion pakoras) and sip from a steaming cup of tea at hand, watching the skies open up and flood the fields outside.
The monsoon is the most distinct season in Goa. The farmer, with a pronounced spring to his step and a tune on his lips, sets out into his field. The long wait is over, and it is time to sow his crop. And, three months later, to reap the harvest of his backbreaking toil.
In the field, he can be seen, a raincoat over his body to keep the rain from soaking him as he ploughs, sows and transplants the paddy field.
Soon, it will be time to reap, and the fields, bald after the harvest, will turn into soccer fields.
The monsoon is the most distinct season in Goa. The farmer, with a pronounced spring to his step and a tune on his lips, sets out into his field. The long wait is over, and it is time to sow his crop. And, three months later, to reap the harvest of his backbreaking toil.
Goa’s relationship with the monsoon is unique. There are ballads sung and poetry recited and it even extends to the rains being christened with rather quaint names.
As the rain dwindles and October comes, just as suddenly, the monsoons announce their exit with another flurry of lightning and bursts of thunder.
It is a sign that all the pent-up waters have been poured over the land, and that the rains are beating a retreat.
Even as people, after four months of pitter-patter raindrops, look forward to some respite from the rain, the heat gets to them and they soon longingly look forward to the month of June, still some eight months away, when the monsoon returns for another spell.
Goa’s romance with the monsoon doesn’t end, it just takes a break to revive with all the pent-up passion that eight months of absence between lovers can produce.
