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| storm clouds brewing, but the rain didn't come that day |
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| bringing in the sheaves |
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| you can just see the rain beginning behind these birds |
Entry 8 –
For Everything There is a Season
When I first moved to Sackville, almost twenty years ago, I was warned about the weather; in a variation on the old saw about Canadian seasons (Canada has only two seasons, winter and road construction), I was told that Sackville has only two seasons, winter and the first two weeks of August. Apparently, although the actual weather is different in India, the way it is understood is not dissimilar; India, I was told, has only two seasons, summer and hot summer.
It was still hot summer when we arrived in Mysore, the season that begins in April and ends with the onset of the monsoon rains sometime in June. For the first week, we struggled through temperatures in the mid to high thirties, plus high humidity readings – although in other parts of India, even now the temperatures are in the mid-forties, plus humidity. It is little wonder that the day begins at or a little before sunrise, and takes on a slower and slower pace as the day unfolds. During April and May, schools are closed for summer break, and now in June they have reopened, beginning a new school year. Here in Mysore, monsoon season has brought some relief, but we are still waiting for more rain.
Monsoon season may bring to mind torrential, heavy, relentless rains that raise water levels at an alarming rate, reaching flood conditions and causing all activity to stop. That can happen in the coastal regions of Karnataka and Kerala states, and sometimes monsoon rains mean that school is cancelled – like Canadian schools because of snow – due to excessive rains and high water levels.
Here in Mysore, and across the Deccan Plain on which Mysore and Bangalore are located, the monsoon season is much more moderate. The Indian people here were anxiously awaiting the onset of the monsoons, both for a relief from the heat and also for the much-needed water to fill the reservoirs in the state.
Water is needed for the mango orchards, now in full fruit, for the many varieties of vegetables being gathered in, and for the planting taking place; in the first week here, as we travelled in the rural regions around Mysore we saw fields being ploughed in the traditional way, with a wooden plough fastened to the yoke of a pair of water buffalo. The grazing grounds for cattle, sheep and goats need replenishing as well, and the rains were ten days overdue.
It is harvest season, and grains were being cut in early June. Heading out of Mysore last week, on our way to visit the thirteenth-century Keshava Temple dedicated to the god Shiva in Somanathapur, we passed mango orchards, rice fields, stands of sugar cane, and coconut groves. We also saw grains being harvested, and carried in sheafs by hand, on bicycles, motorbikes, and stacked high in the back of two-wheeled carts pulled by water buffalo, often down the very centre of the road. Perhaps the most surprising sight on the rural roads was the threshing of grain. In several places, we passed people at the side of the road – mostly women, but also some men, and children, too – with bundles of grain, usually millet. When there was a break in the traffic, they would spread bundles of grain over the surface of the road, particularly in advance of buses or trucks or other heavy vehicles. The heavy vehicles, in driving over the grain, would do the threshing, the separating of the grains from the chaff that surrounds it. Without much regard for the traffic, those at the roadside would rush onto the road as soon as a vehicle had passed, either to add more to the road, or to turn over the sheaves that had been spread there. Often the speed of the vehicle, and the wind produced, would not only thresh the grain but do some of the winnowing. Most of the winnowing was done by hand at the roadside, simply tossing the threshed grains into the air to allow the wind to carry away the lighter chaff. Final separation of grain from bran, and grinding, would take place after a last mechanized winnowing in the local town or village.
But now the monsoon season has begun. Evenings and early mornings are cooler, and some of the Indian people are dressing in cardigans, hoodies, sweaters and pullovers and sometimes jackets, as the temperature dips down to 23 or 24 degrees.
The rain is important to keep India running. In Karnataka, as elsewhere, the infrastructure depends on the rains to replenish the nation with water, both to bring water into the cities for industrial and family use, and also to operate the hydro-electric generation plants at the great dams that been built, creating the reservoirs. Almost 20% of India’s power comes from hydro-electric generation, and without sufficient water supply, the reservoirs are diminished as is the capacity for production of electricity. This can and does result in brownouts and blackouts on an unpredictable basis. Those who can afford it will save power, purchasing large home batteries that are charged using the electrical system in the home. In one apartment of a moderate size, two batteries designed for home use sat just inside the front door; each was about the size and shape of three car batteries sitting side by side, and connected through a transformer would provide enough power for lights, refrigerator, and a couple of small appliances for a couple of days. Such outages and can do happen, although I have not experienced this.
I wonder about the effects of these dams and hydro-electric project on the environment, the wildlife, and the tribal people who find land lost in the creation of huge reservoirs covering many square kilometres. Solar energy is certainly being introduced, and many homes – and our hostel – have solar panels on their flat roofs which are used to power water-heating systems.
It was with gladness that the Indians in the Institute and at the hostel greeted the first monsoon rains last week. I sensed the rain was coming. I could feel the air change, the humidity suddenly plummet, the temperature drop dramatically and suddenly, there was a fresher smell in the air – and suddenly the rain began. Soft but steady at first, it built up to a steady downpour, beating on flat roofs and parched, dry ground. The sound sent the staff and residents rushing outside, where they stood, broad smiles on their upturned faces, they looked into the downpour with outstretched arms and great joyful exclamations of delight.
More rain is still needed; showers last an hour or so, and have only come every two or three days. The weather forecasts promise rain each day, but – as in Canada – the forecasts are not always accurate. It was the Samaritan woman at the well who was told by Jesus “If you knew the gift of God...he would have given you living water.” Here it is surely living water, for as everywhere, it provides for life in so many ways, and with eager anticipation the Indians look up at the clouds, and wait for more.
When I first moved to Sackville, almost twenty years ago, I was warned about the weather; in a variation on the old saw about Canadian seasons (Canada has only two seasons, winter and road construction), I was told that Sackville has only two seasons, winter and the first two weeks of August. Apparently, although the actual weather is different in India, the way it is understood is not dissimilar; India, I was told, has only two seasons, summer and hot summer.
It was still hot summer when we arrived in Mysore, the season that begins in April and ends with the onset of the monsoon rains sometime in June. For the first week, we struggled through temperatures in the mid to high thirties, plus high humidity readings – although in other parts of India, even now the temperatures are in the mid-forties, plus humidity. It is little wonder that the day begins at or a little before sunrise, and takes on a slower and slower pace as the day unfolds. During April and May, schools are closed for summer break, and now in June they have reopened, beginning a new school year. Here in Mysore, monsoon season has brought some relief, but we are still waiting for more rain.
Monsoon season may bring to mind torrential, heavy, relentless rains that raise water levels at an alarming rate, reaching flood conditions and causing all activity to stop. That can happen in the coastal regions of Karnataka and Kerala states, and sometimes monsoon rains mean that school is cancelled – like Canadian schools because of snow – due to excessive rains and high water levels.
Here in Mysore, and across the Deccan Plain on which Mysore and Bangalore are located, the monsoon season is much more moderate. The Indian people here were anxiously awaiting the onset of the monsoons, both for a relief from the heat and also for the much-needed water to fill the reservoirs in the state.
Water is needed for the mango orchards, now in full fruit, for the many varieties of vegetables being gathered in, and for the planting taking place; in the first week here, as we travelled in the rural regions around Mysore we saw fields being ploughed in the traditional way, with a wooden plough fastened to the yoke of a pair of water buffalo. The grazing grounds for cattle, sheep and goats need replenishing as well, and the rains were ten days overdue.
It is harvest season, and grains were being cut in early June. Heading out of Mysore last week, on our way to visit the thirteenth-century Keshava Temple dedicated to the god Shiva in Somanathapur, we passed mango orchards, rice fields, stands of sugar cane, and coconut groves. We also saw grains being harvested, and carried in sheafs by hand, on bicycles, motorbikes, and stacked high in the back of two-wheeled carts pulled by water buffalo, often down the very centre of the road. Perhaps the most surprising sight on the rural roads was the threshing of grain. In several places, we passed people at the side of the road – mostly women, but also some men, and children, too – with bundles of grain, usually millet. When there was a break in the traffic, they would spread bundles of grain over the surface of the road, particularly in advance of buses or trucks or other heavy vehicles. The heavy vehicles, in driving over the grain, would do the threshing, the separating of the grains from the chaff that surrounds it. Without much regard for the traffic, those at the roadside would rush onto the road as soon as a vehicle had passed, either to add more to the road, or to turn over the sheaves that had been spread there. Often the speed of the vehicle, and the wind produced, would not only thresh the grain but do some of the winnowing. Most of the winnowing was done by hand at the roadside, simply tossing the threshed grains into the air to allow the wind to carry away the lighter chaff. Final separation of grain from bran, and grinding, would take place after a last mechanized winnowing in the local town or village.
But now the monsoon season has begun. Evenings and early mornings are cooler, and some of the Indian people are dressing in cardigans, hoodies, sweaters and pullovers and sometimes jackets, as the temperature dips down to 23 or 24 degrees.
The rain is important to keep India running. In Karnataka, as elsewhere, the infrastructure depends on the rains to replenish the nation with water, both to bring water into the cities for industrial and family use, and also to operate the hydro-electric generation plants at the great dams that been built, creating the reservoirs. Almost 20% of India’s power comes from hydro-electric generation, and without sufficient water supply, the reservoirs are diminished as is the capacity for production of electricity. This can and does result in brownouts and blackouts on an unpredictable basis. Those who can afford it will save power, purchasing large home batteries that are charged using the electrical system in the home. In one apartment of a moderate size, two batteries designed for home use sat just inside the front door; each was about the size and shape of three car batteries sitting side by side, and connected through a transformer would provide enough power for lights, refrigerator, and a couple of small appliances for a couple of days. Such outages and can do happen, although I have not experienced this.
I wonder about the effects of these dams and hydro-electric project on the environment, the wildlife, and the tribal people who find land lost in the creation of huge reservoirs covering many square kilometres. Solar energy is certainly being introduced, and many homes – and our hostel – have solar panels on their flat roofs which are used to power water-heating systems.
It was with gladness that the Indians in the Institute and at the hostel greeted the first monsoon rains last week. I sensed the rain was coming. I could feel the air change, the humidity suddenly plummet, the temperature drop dramatically and suddenly, there was a fresher smell in the air – and suddenly the rain began. Soft but steady at first, it built up to a steady downpour, beating on flat roofs and parched, dry ground. The sound sent the staff and residents rushing outside, where they stood, broad smiles on their upturned faces, they looked into the downpour with outstretched arms and great joyful exclamations of delight.
More rain is still needed; showers last an hour or so, and have only come every two or three days. The weather forecasts promise rain each day, but – as in Canada – the forecasts are not always accurate. It was the Samaritan woman at the well who was told by Jesus “If you knew the gift of God...he would have given you living water.” Here it is surely living water, for as everywhere, it provides for life in so many ways, and with eager anticipation the Indians look up at the clouds, and wait for more.
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| sunset from my balcony; some clouds, but no rain |
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