Is it the sudden change in weather here(the annoying drizzle after weeks of bright sunny days)? Or is just the month July - my friends celebrating birthdays and having parties? Or is it an overdose of beautiful Malyalam Songs? Or is it the simplest reason of all, am I homesick already? For the past few days I have been having this inexplicable urge to talk to my friends and family. It was not enough to just talk to friends; I had to talk to people in Tulu. I had to laugh at the Pappu's silly PJs and Yashas's jokes (don't know what genre that would be). I had to know what was happening back home, about every aunt and uncle and cousin. The hitherto annoying news about X getting married to Y became interesting news. And more than anything else wanted to know if it's raining back home. Am still not sure what triggered this homesickness, but I think it just might be the monsoon back home.
How I would love to be in Moodbidri now - Just watching the torrential downpour from the window, watching the roof leak and hearing my dad complain about it, sipping a hot cup of tea and eating my mom's not-so-perfect chattambade, hear the rhetorical conversations on how good the monsoon was this year and how 3 years back there was no rain, hear my mom talk about how clothes don't dry in this damp weather.
How the courtyard would now be slippery due to the pamaji(fungi). How my mom or dad would have a stock of sunna(lime) ready for that one day when it would not rain and they would attack the slippery fungi with sunna. How the inexpensive whitewash on the outer walls would start turning a shade of brown-green due the water dripping down. How the water-well would be so full that if only we had arms like Lord Rama, we could just dip the Kodapana(don't know the English word) and draw water. How tricky it would be to carry the kodapana back home(there is a stretch of cement and then 10 steps to scale and then another stretch of cement between the home and well and all of it would be slippery like hell). How green the fungi-covered walls are and how soon after the monsoon they would turn a shade of brown. How dark the already dark rooms of the house would get.
How it would now be the end of jackfruit season and the lovers of that terrible fruit would relish every last bit of it. How mom would make jackfruit dosa and kadubu and try to convince me that it was not very sweet and that I should try at least one before the season ends and how upon my rejection she would quip that I am missing out on something divine. How yummy the hot pathrode might taste now (not sure if the leaves would be able to survive the rain). How good would the red-rice ganji taste now with the dry mango pickle.
How the kids at Jain High School would get a day off when it rains very heavily in the morning. How the NCC would be cancelled if there was too much water logged in the grounds. How the rocket-fast buses would zoom past you splashing muddy water on you and how even the gentlest and most pious of persons would resort to swearing. How the shopkeeper in the cold-house would no longer stock ellu juice (made of sesame) or punarpuli juice(birunda).
How full the lake in Varanga would be that the priest would no longer take devotees in his rickety boat to the temple. How the truly religious would brave the rains and visit all the open basadis early in the morning. How the fields would be logged with water and how there would be kambala races in it.
Oh, how I would love to take my scooter out now and just go on and on and on and never ever stop. Oh, how I long for these familiar tastes and smells and conversations.
