Since this blog will die if...

...I don't start typing now, here I am. This is going to be a rantpost, I think, because I have absolutely no idea as to why I'm writing, except for this conviction that if I don't put something up now I shall leave this blog to die. Abandoning things is the worst thing you can do, really. I'm very good at it. Right now I have added three books and a painting to my list of Abandoned Things. My attention span is sinking slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y, to that of a four-year-old. Already I want to run off and do something else.

Rain makes me restless, especially the kind of rain that lingers and won't go. If you're a cloud in the sky, the kind of cloud whose purpose is to rain, you either:

a) Rain for a brief period of time and then go away.
b) Linger for a brief period of time, make useless growling threats, and go away.
c) Rain all day and make people hope you will go away.
d) Take your time experimenting with the above three options, perform one or more of the functions, and go away.

Point is, sooner or later you go away. You don't stay all day leaving people to agonise over the carrying of umbrellas and the rolling-up of pants, rumble ominously, and then pretend-rain. Pretend rain is horrible. In fact, pretend-rain is one step lower than a drizzle. It isn't rain. It isn't pretense. It is the kind of thing you notice suddenly out of the corner of your eye, when you catch a few truant drops suspended in a car's headlights. Momentary dashes of white on the road. But you're not getting wet, and neither is the city. It's just slowly and surely going damp, and no one will ever know how it happened when they turn around and see everything glistening. That is pretend-rain.

Which is why it would be nice to be able to do a lot of things now. I'd like very much to jump into a passing vehicle and disappear for a couple of days, go somewhere with weather conditions conducive to running around without an umbrella, and, well, run around.

Some place like this, maybe:




Let me tell you about this place, Kuruvadeep. It is a system of islands in the middle of a river called Kabani, and it is located in one of the few parts of Kerala that isn't overrun by foreign tourists and the industry spawned thereon. It is by definition a bird sanctuary, but the beauty of the place lies in the fact that it is covered entirely by bamboo forests. And if you go during the dry season, like we did, there are no birds around, but the bamboo comes alive because of the wind blowing through the groves. There is a dry, papery rustling-rattling sound at all times, like music you've never heard. And the only way you can get about the place is by wading through rivulets around the island, with very slippery boulders hidden away in the exact places you put your feet.

So you fall. Spectacularly.

Everyone goes crashing into the brown waters, arms flailing like animated gargoyles. And then, because the whole thing is so very absurd, you laugh, and the bamboo groves laugh with you in one sweeping, whispering motion. And then you walk to a low-lying valley, the one in the picture, and on beyond to a string of huts constructed for bird watchers, then finally into a raft that will carry you to the mainland.

I'd like to do something like this right now. I'm not asking for anything complicated, really. Just a little expedition. And there's a long weekend coming up. Looks like I have something to plan now.




And hah, I just realised. This hasn't been a rant-post. Not entirely. Good for me, I think.