NYAC | 3min Read
Published on May 14, 2026
Rains of Rajasthan
Rains of Rajasthan
Frank’s father was transferred to India. Now the family lives in Rajasthan in a place called Barmer.
The transition was substantial for the Scottish lad, it was supposed to be the cool season of September and this ‘cool’ season gave the boy a mild heatstroke the first week of being there. The collector bungalow was beautiful indeed with a well-maintained garden; the architecture that was supposedly British yet it was so alien. The sloping roof was purely decorative with no real roof gutters – even the pantiles were just cement ridges painted red.
Their butler was a thin man with a rat tail who called frank ‘chote Saab’ he never got what it meant yet learned to answer to it.
After six months of varying degrees of absurd weather from winter mornings cold enough to freeze the local ‘talao’ to thirty-five-degree heat in October afternoons- the dreaded summers came. His father had told him it would be best if he went back for a while and his mother already had but frank was too invested. So, he stayed soon to witness sandstorms that burned the straw houses of villagers and seeing the air wobble over the sand all the while boiling over in his room even with the fan turned on. When the hot winds blew, the servant would stuff the windows with a mesh of dried grass and poured water over the setup; it always got so cool when he did that only he could do it when the winds blew.
Finally, when the weather got bearable, he stepped out of the quarters after months- with an umbrella and all measures needed to prevent the heatstroke he got last year.
This time he stepped out he saw something which made him ask the man “where did they come from?”
What he saw were a bunch tents made haphazardly with a cloth laid on a dry shrub as roof and drapes hanging from thin ropes on the other. There were goats and sheep- dozens of them, grazing on trees standing on two legs. He was confused, there was nothing like this he had seen, there was no making sense of it. The man however, didn’t look so intrigued.
Frank looked at him expecting an answer. ‘They are wandering people, kalbeliye. Their girls do dancing; not good people, that kind’ said the man arising more questions than answering.
“Dancing isn’t bad” frank said only to be interrupted before saying any further ‘you are a child only. I already tell you they are bad people. Now we go from the other gate, if you wish “let’s go inside already” said frank with child-like annoyance. And thus ended the stroll.
Apart from some cold days, August this year is warm and somewhat humid, the kalbeliye children were unaffected, running barefoot on the sand, The girls looked out of the ordinary with their black clothes with little mirrors. So, this is what they wear to dances, frank thought. After a fortnight or so of frank being a voyeur, the weather got worse, he heard thunder the first time last night, the rain he saw in July was not this torrential, he didn’t go out anyway so it wasn’t a big deal.
The next morning, the clouds were dark. the kalbeliye began to pack. The girls no longer wore those clothes and switched to rags. When they were left, still clearly in sight; the rain began.
Frank went outside, Ganesh was nowhere close, he saw the children being to howl in excitement, the adults were indifferent, frank felt rain the first time in India, the rain was warm.
