Hornbill's call

In the south western corner of our house, there is a sarpa kavu, towered by a grand father tree.. always a cacophony of birds.

Sometime during the fag end of summer vacations, they come in, the Malabar Hornbills...quite, unassuming, hidden among the branches. The first indication of their arrival is their signature calls...shrill and piercing, you could hear them far enough..You have to really strain to see them..they are quite adept at staying hidden.

My memories of this bird are always associated with rains..unlike most of the other birds, they sit out in the rain, and soak it up- without flinching a feather. Watching them, all the stories about how "hornbills are permanently looking for rains" feels so true.

Much like when we were kids. The first rains were always spent outside the house, soaking it up...

- dad, inspecting the fresh leaks from the tiled roof, prodding the dried leaves out of rain water drains, moving the plants from under the thatched shade to the rain.

- mom, standing on the verandah, trying her best to coax me and sister inside, threatening us with diseases varying from cold to pneumonia. Finally giving up and going inside to make tea and pakodas for all of us.

- my sister, running around the house with the mandatory umbrella that mom has forced her to carry- collecting rainwater holding it upside down when mom looks the other way. Standing with her mouth open to drink the rain water and picking up flowers fallen in the first gust.

- me, contended to just stand and feel the rain falling . mandatory umbrella left dutifully inside the house. Moments that feel like heaven, the smell of freshly washed earth, and the pleasure of hearing the hundred frogs and cicadas that have started a harmony.

Last night, i dreamt i was in a forest , and a lone hornbill sounded its signature call.

May is at it's fag end now...

All i need now is you, rain.

Where are you?