05 September 2007, Amritapuri

For the past month, barely a day has gone by without rain.  Sometimes it comes unexpectedly, dark clouds on the horizon over the ocean.  Other times, it lingers like a drizzle, occasionally turning into downpours.  Day or night.  Amritapuri is wet, muddy.  Puddles linger in front of the cafe. We dodge streams of water falling from the roof of the main hall on the way to the canteen.  We sport umbrellas, commonly used in India to shield strollers from the strong sun.  Clothes are rarely dry, stained with mud.  Unwashed, they remain piled high in corners of the room waiting for the sun to come out so we can do laundry.

With the rain comes cool air. Humid, but cool.  The nights are comfortable.  We sleep with light blankets.

But the constant rain reminds one of how Amma is continuously trying to wash away the dirt that keeps us from realizing our true selves.  Once in a while, the sun manages to peak out at just the right time and there is a rainbow – Mazha Villu in Malayalam – and there is hope.  But the rain keeps coming.  There must be lots of dirt…

Sri Pati