Last night it rained in Coimbatore for the first time since I arrived.
It is winter here, but Indian winters are very different to those at home. It averages 35 degrees celsius here, and it the air is very hot and heavy. While I was chopping vegetables for dinner last night I could feel the sweat running down my back. Two showers a day is necessary to get rid of the grime and sweat of the day and night, and the worst part of not having power is that the ceiling fans do not work.
Summer thunderstorms are magical at home. The way the air changes, and the smell of the wet earth. However, last night’s thunderstorm topped any other I have experienced. The smell of the dusty city being washed clean was over powering, and the air changed from oppressive and heavy to cool and liberating.
I made myself a cup of tea and sat up on the terrace in the rain. The big fat drops of rain cooled me down, and it was nice to be one of the only people outside for a change. Indians have a paranoia about getting wet in the rain – ask anyone and they will tell you that doing so will guarantee you catch a cold. The usually bustling road outside my house was quiet, with only cars passing by. It was so peaceful.
As I lay in bed under my mosquito net I listened to the rain, and the occasional loud clap of thunder right outside my house. It was magical, one of those moments in time that you wish you could capture accurately for future reference. Instead, all I have is these inadequate words and a photo of my fairy lights on my mosquito net.