A torch, a camera and an umbrella

School Thota, Coorg.

Picture this. It's a dark rainy night in the monsoon in Coorg. Outside a 160 year old bungalow in the middle of a huge coffee estate, there's a curious shape on the lawn. It's part umbrella and part drenched human backside, lit by the glow of a torch, and the occasional flash.

Well, that's me... kneeling on the lawn, juggling a torch, a camera and an umbrella, trying to take a photograph of a nocturnal frog in the rain. The frog turned out to be rhacophorus lateralis, an endangered nest building frog, endemic to the Western Ghats.

For the two days I spent at School Thota, I was pampered by Mrs. Saraswathi Aiyappa with the best of Coorgi cuisine. Pandi curry, of course, with kadumbuttu and papputtu. Kai puli (bitter orange) squash, chutney, and the fresh, and extremely sour, fruit. Bamboo shoot curry with akki roti. I explored the estate in the rain, grinned maniacally at the few cars I happened to see, watched sunbirds fight each other for the best hibiscus blooms and vernal hanging parrots messily eat guavas from the tree.

Oh yes, thank you Amara! What wouldn't I give to be seven again!

More photos...

Happiness Rains

Paper boats racing down the storm drain with four kids cheering them on sheltered from the lightning and the pouring rain by a tin roof.

Returning home soaking wet after winning a football match we should have lost since we were playing with most of the regulars banned for poor academic performance.

Continuing the Founder's display as the lights blew, one by one, in the summer storm.

Riding an auto through the gates of a green Pune University through the drizzle of the monsoon.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere in a downpour with darkness upon us, singing.

Sprinting up to Cheena Peak in a drizzle stopping only to pull leeches off our ankles.

Spending an hour in a village home not understanding a word of the conversation, invited in from the pouring rain.

Wandering through the Himachal hills, splashing each other by jumping in the puddles, not wanting to get home.

Discarding umbrellas and walking barefoot through paddy fields looking for frogs and mushrooms.

Scrambling for higher ground in the middle of the night as the swollen Alaknanda washed the sand away from under our tents.

Is it any wonder that I love the rain so?