Conversing with Clouds

He pointed 'Meghalaya!' I saw a citadel of granite-coloured cumulus towering fifty miles ahead. 'You know what it means? Abode of the clouds. They are always there, sitting over the hills, almost part of the structural integrity of the place. It's the only Indian state that you can reliably pick up on the weather radar.

That's what the pilot tells Alexander Frater, author of 'Chasing the Monsoon', when he gets an aerial view of Shillong, capital of Meghalaya, as the plane heads towards Umroi, 'the tiny mountain strip that served Shillong'.  

Alexander Frater goes into raptures: "That awesome cumulus of Meghalaya sat over a range of hills so unimaginably green they seemed radioactive. The rising terrain ahead glistened in the morning sun, its wild, vibrant, primeval viridescence almost colouring the undersides of the clouds.....Meghalaya's clouds gave us a boisterous, turbulent welcome before parting to reveal a lovely perspective of rolling highland country embellished by dense copses, shadowy clearings and white-water streams plunging along so vigorously we could almost hear them. We could almost smell the wildflowers too. We couldn't see them, but these wooded hills and secret valleys gave off a queer, soft, starlight luminosity that might have  emitted by fields of lilies beneath the trees. We were flying over an abandoned, overgrown garden, and it wasn't hard to imagine a seed planted at dawn blooming before dusk'. 

That book came out in the early nineties and almost two and a half decades later, Meghalaya's cumulus clouds are at it again! Going from Delhi meant landing at Guwahati airport and driving up to Shillong, praying fervently that the clouds don't turn so ferocious black that everything outside gets enveloped in an eerie dark grey  ominous haze making you extra careful round the corner to avoid careening into another vehicle hurtling down the hills. July is not a good month in tourism parlance to visit Shillong, its monsoon which translates into endless downpours. It also translates into a spectacular light and sound show up in the sky with the clouds presenting shapes, shades and sides unbelievable, accompanied by deafening thunders and blinding lightnings. Its the rain gods at their furious best, raging ceaselessly. 

It had been raining intermittently too in Delhi and the two hours plus Delhi-Guwahati flight  was spent  looking out of the window at the capering clouds outside. Sometimes they were dark and threatening, sometimes flirty and streaked with silver glints from the sun hidden somewhere behind. At times they were wispy, willowy, barely discernible grey mists zooming past at lightning speed making one almost ask them what the hurry was all about.  Other times they gently glided by as if drifting off to sleep. Even the mighty Himalayas, so vividly visible from the left side of the plane, appeared to have given up the fight with the clouds with just a faint glimpse of snowy peaks here and there. 

Despite the passage of time from Frater's observations to now, the greens of Meghalayastill hold sway, though of course with 'progress' the lush forests on either side  show much thinning with human habitation taking over. But green it still is. Thanks to the fabulous work on the National Highway, the drive up to Shillong is a pleasure with broad two-way lanes (except for a few kilometres)   I hadn't been to Shillong during the monsoon for a long, long time. Of course, there were memories galore of Shillong during the rains- of gumboots, raincoats and umbrellas and still getting wet; of that musty smell permanently lodging itself in the house despite the 'agarbattis'; of clothes taking forever to dry; of praying earnestly to the powers above for a small break in the endless downpour during the day. Then, at bedtime sending up reverse prayers for heavy rains all through the night because there is no better feeling of warmth and happiness nodding off to sleep snug under the quilt while  the rains drum out a rhythm on the tin roofs!  In fact, I dare any insomniac to stay awake through that!
 

Would the memories of old hold true? Would the entire landscape be nothing but dark angry clouds looming right from the grounds and disappearing into the skies? I didn't have to wait for long, as the road climbed so did the intensity of the clouds outside and, at one point it looked as if we had entered a sci-fi zone and that at any moment some behemoth beast would lumber through seeking human blood! It was rainy season, a weekday and the morning hours, so the traffic was next to nothing, adding further to the feeling of being in the nowhere zone.

    

In Meghalaya or rather Shillong, I have forever heard the elders saying, don't trust the weather, it is like a flighty woman (I know that's sexist like hell and today I object, but then I plead guilty of tittering), which meant one couldn't go out unless armed with some sort of defence, generally a folding umbrella, to fend off the unpredictable rains anytime of the year. The unpredictability has remained constant and all through the drive it was a fight of dark and light, one moment like being in a cavernous grey hole with visibility barely there and the next, a gentle shimmery grey and you know that the sun would break through the haze soon. At times bits of the sky would be blazing blue even as rain bearing clouds rolled by.  More than often, the greenery too acquired a grey tinge, especially in the distance.

What was most fascinating was to watch the play of clouds across the hill, beyond the small church with the blue roof. Completely riveting. Even early morning seemed to appear like twilight and at all times it seemed to holding out a warning, keep your distance and don't take me lightly. It wasn't friendly skies by any imagination. But it was fascinating, it was nature at her fiery best.
 

The morning walks that I loved, almost up to the foot of Shillong peak, had to be abandoned. For some reasons the rains came down heavy in the mornings. But inclement weather or otherwise certain tasks had to be carried out.  So there was I one day almost speed walking down Kench's Trace- (Incidentally, everybody in Shillong calls it Kenchestris, the same way Jacob's Ladder is called Jackup's!) - when I realised that a small gathering was peering through the gates of an old house. Had something untoward happened? I traced back my steps and joined the group and strained to see what lay beyond the gates. It took me a few minutes to realise that the house, Jitbhumi, drawing such attention was where Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore had spend three months, May-June in 1923 and where he wrote the poem Shillong-er Chithi (Letter from Shillong) and the drama, Raktakabari.  It required the excited clattering of tourists to draw my attention and take a proper look at the house for the first time; I guess that happens when it is almost in your old neighbourhood. Two new buildings have cropped up in the huge compound, one bang next to the original house and somehow, they don't fit in.  

That's the problem with Shillong, like all hill stations the beautiful cottages of old, some like real story book ones, are vanishing fast. The replacements are monstrous modern constructions, some multi-storied, blighting the scenery with their ugly silhouettes. So much so, that coming across houses with a look and feel of the old cottages - however small and patched up with tin sheet s- makes one feel happy. Taking the small, uphill lane from Laitumkhrah to Fruit Garden, passing St Edmund's on the way, a friend and I stood not only to admire but hope fervently that those living in a cute red tinned roofed cottage wouldn't succumb to the lure of a several storied concrete structure. 

 

The grey grumbling skies and the constant rains notwithstanding, or maybe all the more for it,  I had one important mission - to visit the much talked about Cafe Shillong (Laitumkhrah) and the latest buzz in town, (Bob) Dylan's Cafe at Fruit Garden. Cafe Shillong, looking down on a busy road with the constant hum of traffic, was well, a trendy cafe, beautiful music playing and smart young ladies running the show.   The guitar strung on the wall and the frames of the local football team apart, it could have been another hipster cafe anywhere. Though of course, not every cafe in India now can feature a beef dish as its special of the day. That I loved! 

  

Music and Shillong go together, it's an accepted fact by now. To call it the rock capital of India, would not be stretching things too far. Almost every second person can play the guitar and belt out a melodious tune, or at least that's it is said. There is music of every kind, of every possible genre and then, there is Bob Dylan. Shillong has made the legend its own. It all started many, many years ago when a local musician (guitarist and singer)  called Lou Majaw - an icon now, him with the long silver hair and the shortest shorts- began to earn fame for his Dylan tribute shows and somewhere he began to be called our own Bob Dylan.  By the way, he was born four months and one day before India became independent!    

With its own Bob Dylan and with the hill station celebrating the original Dylan's birthday every year with a huge music fest, it surprises me that no one thought of it earlier, the Dylan Cafe that is. When I first heard of it, I feared that it might be a case of going overboard, but after the visit I came away applauding the venture. Located on the left band of the entry to Fruit Garden, with a narrow stream by its side, large glass windows letting sun and light, and decent sized terrace it is picture pretty. Packed with funky elements, it is indeed a homage to Dylan. And as expected, Shillong's own Dylan holds weekly performances at the Cafe. A unique feature is that guests are invited to add their own art work on the ceiling and I noticed quite a few graffiti, jottings and sketches on some of the ceiling panels . For die hard Dylan fans there are souvenirs on sale too.     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What do you do first thing in the morning when you are in Shillong during the monsoon? You step out to check the skies. It was like greeting the clouds first thing in the morning and asking for a respite so you could manage a morning walk. Nah! didn't oblige most of the time. Not while I am up there, you can't do what you want to do, you have to go by rules, they seemed to chortle. You guys still there, isn't it high time you moved on, you are tempted to say. But you know there's no arguing with nature.

 

On a different note, what happens when a newly minted teenager and someone soon to cross into double digit age, remain confined to the house after school hours. They have to spend excess energy and they do so in a colourful manner, literally. Banished to their room and asked to stay put there, they find a creative way to entertain themselves - painting on the walls. The teenager took out her leaf collection, paint boxes and set to work diligently on the walls. Not to be left behind the younger decided to use her hands as the art instrument, leaving numerous multi coloured palm prints all over the wall, till the height she could stretch up to.

Last seen and heard, their mother was asking them to clean the walls pronto or else................. 

Outside the rains gurgled mockingly