Sahyadrica

Such fairness have I ever seen, On tender stilts and blades like steel Of greens and yellows, of red-tipped reeds Standing boldly in rain, gently swaying in breeze. What name do they call you, Whose song do you sing, Do you speak of the aging seasons, Have you a message in your wisps woven? “ They call me Kaans, or Kansh, and Kasha I sing of the clouds that retreat beyond And I speak of the sun, glaring over the plains And I rise to bid farewell to the last shimmer of rains .” Kaans - Saccharum spontaneum Kaans ( Saccharum spontaneum ) is probably the most beautiful grass of central India. One can see fields of their fair-spikelet swaying in the cool monsoon breeze in meadows and paddy fields, as if someone planted them there to adorn the green monochromes of rice. The flower-heads of Kaans fly through the air as the season ages, dispersing seeds and claiming new territories Their blooming is said to indicate that the end of monsoon is near. B...

There is something within me that is a desert, a dying plain of cracked mud, an empty cup that forever thirsts for another sip of rain.                                                                 – Stephanie Rachel Seely , An Ode to Rain Kalidasa would not have chosen this year to write Meghdoot . The famed southwest monsoon of the Indian subcontinent is at its five year lowest as of June. A strong El Niño is being blamed for such an anomaly, holding back the most beloved weather of the world from us just like it did in 2009. If anyone had asked you about India’s monsoon of the previous year, you may have responded with a satisfactory smile. It was beautiful. The rivers were flowing to the brim and the agricultural production was far better. I’m not sure what the government figures tell, but the farmers of Maha...

It will be wrong if I say I have not spent time (a lot of it) looking at the nimbostratus clouds passing silently from the south-west, waiting for the horns to blow that mark the arrival of monsoon. This we must agree, that monsoon is the epitome of change. It is the most astonishing of all changes. The change is in the air, in the earth, and is ultimately wrought in the mind. And all of this may happen just as you sit and stare out of the window! Monsoon this year did not arrive at its stipulated time. It thundered sparsely. There was no dance of the lights. May I say that Lord Varuna is not happy with what mankind has done to Mother Earth? That he is not in our favour anymore, and would abandon us when he knows we are completely, hopelessly dependent on him? We are all out praying, some loudly, some in their minds, some going to the length of marrying Hoplobatrachus tigerinus , the Indian Bullfrog, in hopes of impressing the Rain God. Today, the interval between two continuo...