Thursday, April 02, 2009

Anatomy of a Rainstorm on the Mountains



Ruahthimpui is what we call them up here. Ruah for rain, thim for dark, pui for big, so literally a big, black rainstorm. As opposed to those summery showers which thoroughly wet your umbrella but don't last very long. An RTP usually visits these mountains at least a couple of times a year, sometimes unexpectedly at the beginning of the year around February or March, much before the onset of the monsoon rains, and more usually during mid-monsoon from July to October.


There's never any indication earlier on in the day that an RTP is brewing. No bleary sunrise, no overcast skies, no agitated bird alarms. Just business as usual everywhere, people going about their work, children playing outside. Then suddenly, thick dark clouds start sweeping ominously down the mountains, a strong wind whips out of nowhere and noisily flaps clothes hanging out on lines, bangs shut unbolted windows and doors, stirs dust from the ground and sends debris swirling in the air. There are short, sharp sounds everywhere. Glass shattering, neighbours calling out to one another in high, hurried tones as they rush around collecting their wash, voices screaming for the children to get indoors immediately. Windows and doors are noisily shut and firmly bolted, the steel doors of shops dragged way down low, people on the streets, with or without umbrellas, rush for the nearest shelter. Lightning streaks viciously across blackened skies and thunder rumbles.


Within minutes, heavy raindrops smack fatly down, relentlessly rattling tin rooftops and glass windows. A smothering curtain of grey, impenetrable mist and fog settles over everything, drawing visibility to claustrophobic limits. Sometimes, little iceballs of petrified rain pelt down, hammering roofs of cars and houses. Hail always causes excitement. Children are especially fascinated and a few daring ones dart out to pick up the glistening, white stones.


Within four walls, the electricity is invariably cut off. Darkness reigns supreme. People light candles or old-fashioned lanterns at noon, a few awestruck faces peer through glass panes at nature's unleashed fury raging outside. Some huddle down on long chairs, others bunk down under warm blankets in bed to comfortably wait out the storm.

Sometimes it continues for as long as an hour. Sometimes it's done in a few minutes. The rain stops, the fog clears, the clouds roll back to their places somewhere beyond the mountains. The sun reappears. People open windows and doors and come outside. Everything is bedraggled and dripping. And life picks up again.


25 comments:


  1. I saw rain drops on my window, Joy is like the rain.
    Laughter runs across my pane, Slips away and comes again.
    Joy is like the rain

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  2. RTP kan hmu ve har tawh ltk a..keini lam chu la lum tha tak ani.

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  3. you took me on a journey with your words. in Bengal, such a sudden storm is called Kalboishakhi.. i hadn't experienced it till the time I came here..

    I loved the window photo..

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  4. Dear you become a really good photogrpher. You are bold enough to at least take the photographs inspite of the looming darkness. At this time I was in the middle of an important examination, trying to comfort the students and at the same time conduct an examination. The room was too dark for such activities, but luckily it lasted only a few minutes. I always remember someone who is afraid of lightning and thunder, especially the dark clouds.

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  5. Somehow I think you are describing a typical thunder storm modified by the micro climate and the geography of your area.

    Nice post because of my love affair with rain. I just love rain. Not the cold icy rains of northern latitudes but the warm life giving rains that I am so familiar with in this part of the world. It is just so nice to go out and let the rain fall on your face and wash away all your sorrows and pains letting it envelope you by drenching your whole body so that you are one with nature.

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  6. Mos, I have a niece named Joy. I could introduce you to her but she's only 6. Come to think of it, she does act a bit like rain. Slips in and out and laughs, giggles rather, all the time..

    azzask, fel deuh khan lo awm phawt mai ula RTP chu kan rawn sih chhuah sak thuai maithei che u nia auh

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  7. Gauri, thank you, I like my window shot too. All the pictures were taken last Monday or Tuesday. I was going around the house checking if everything was in place when I felt the windows and the reflection on the floor would make a nicely dramatic picture. It reminds me of a hospital/asylum corridor. Clean, sterile, dark, empty and slightly menacing.

    vana, I've been in a classroom a few times during a dark rainstorm too. Gets a bit scary, doesn't it? I notice the students also seem to be a bit anxious but luckily it never lasts very long.

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  8. Loch, yes I'm sure the geography and climate is a big factor in this particular kind of rainstorm. We have a few different kinds of storms here and the RTP is characterised by the black darkness. There's also another kind of storm called a ruahpuivanawn which is not accompanied by the romantic darkness of the other. I say romantic because most people find the unusual darkness at noon experience rather enjoyable especially if they're not caught outdoors when it happens.

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  9. The pics are beautiful...so is the writing...made me nostalgic for home...havent felt that in a long long time...

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  10. gosh..i sure wish an RTP would strike right here, right now because this heat is killing me!!!

    Ruahthimpui baka min hriatchhuah tir chu tun ang huna thlipui tleh vak2 thin kha, warning awm vaklo a rawn tleh vak thin ang kha. Rial tla hi kan chhar thin a bucket ah kan dah a a lo tui hnuah kan paih leh a... haha a lo ho eeee...

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  11. Never knew it was called RTP. Ruah ani vek mai a maw ka lo tia...a buh thei khawp mai!

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  12. Jesleen and tinks, thank you! I'm sure you can see the influence of the countless old issues of Readers Digest I've been convalescing with - Anatomy of a Heart Attack, Anatomy of this n that hehe. Also I've been greatly inspired by amber's many beautifully descriptive prose bouquet blogposts. Used to write a lot of descriptive compositions way back in school and I wanted to see if I could still do it.

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  13. ambs, there were lots of those mad March winds in Shillong. There were days when we couldn't go out without tying our hair in ponytails because the wind messed up our nicely styled hair so bad. And I can still see in my mind's eye the girls in my hostel laughing and going Ooooh as the wind blew out and up their puans and skirts :)

    Philo, don't worry, most rain is just plain ruahsur except for the dramatic RTP which is a class act in itself!

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  14. Great shots as usual. The post reminds me of Lalmama's poem 'To Haw' we studied in class two. I still like the poem.

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  15. That was a beautiful rendition of the BIG BLACK CLOUD coming down.. hehe.. I loved it, and I guess its one of the things I missed most about home, for the past few years I've been home only for the Xmas holidays and we don't get much RTP that time o'year.. BTW, i thought it was call RUAH PUI VAN AWN, literally translated to BIG RAIN TILTING SKY.. hehe.. Great work on the pics too.. :)

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  16. mesjay, I'm always surprised at your memory. Me I can't remember for nuts which class exactly I was in when I studied specific poems or songs.

    red, you don't know the difference between an RTP and a ruahpui-van-awn? Check back on my answer to Lochan's comment.

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  17. RTP han in tran tur.. rawn thim deuh ruai ruai.. thli han thaw vuk vuk tran.. la sur tak tak hma.. mihring han insaseng vel sung sung.. tiang boruak kha.. a nuam, ti daih teh ang.. :)

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  18. Well writ as usual. I have to join the slew of fans who loved the window shot. Rain is mostly just a disruptive event for me. I like it only when it's hot, when I don't have clothes to dry, and when someone else is going to mop the floor. But that's just a city girl talking, obviously it's Godsend for farmers.
    BTW, isn't it ironic and weird that the really bad hailstorms always strike villages where people's homes and crop get destroyed? Aizawl with its mostly concrete houses and little agricultural land just get enough hail to be cute.

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  19. lexx, nia tiang vel kha a engemaw nawm duh riau alom. A haps tlat tiraw lol

    dear diary, lol yeah you put that really well - "just enough hail to be cute." You know, I used to love the sun too but over the last couple of years I've developed an aversion to sunshine because I can't go out without sunblock. If I'm careless, I itch badly in the evening :(

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  20. I really have no say, but green does nothing for your blog :P

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  21. Awwwww I wanted a fresh new look.Guess I have to try again :(

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  22. This is mucho better, me thinks :)

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  23. Hats off to how u have romanticized a rainy day in Mizoram, especially when its blazing down here in South India, that I almost forget about leaky roofs, clothes not drying, moulds on shoes, make that everything, slushy marketplace, landslides, getting ready for work, blah3 (spoilsport, am I not??Hehe)

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  24. Yep Op, definitely a spoilsport. Also you were going just a little offside. I was talking about an RTP and not rain per se. Heaven knows I've done enough of that in previous blogposts.

    diary, guess this is an improvement on the bright green but I'm still not too happy with it. I need a brand new look!

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