Cyclone journal

Since I am from the coastal town of Pondicherry, it may not come as a surprise that I have some attachment to coastal-related nature activities, especially cyclones for now. Cyclones have been a fascinating topic for me since childhood. When warnings are issued for a cyclone, the ladies in my family, on the day of the cyclone, go to the beach to witness the spectacle. This was especially possible since my father and uncles used to work at government offices, which are mostly located on the beach road in Pondicherry.

Hence, I thought it would be ideal to come up with a series of posts about cyclones and my interpretation of this majestic natural activity that’s scheduled to happen every northeast monsoon season of the year. I only wish I had started this many years ago; it would have been an amazing record of posts to go through about each year’s cyclone. Better late than never. Here I am, at 32, wanting to build memories and make life happen step by step through my virtual address, Outdoor Being.

In my family, every year is recollected or benchmarked with the occurrence of a major cyclone. For instance, if someone asked me or my family, “When did you pass out of college?” they would say, “Well, 2012, and also because the Oaki cyclone happened that year.” That’s the level of attachment and value we give ourselves to one of nature’s brilliant displays—cyclones.

My curiosity about this natural force deepened when I first visited Rameshwaram. The moment I saw the abandoned village of Dhanushkodi, I could only imagine the sheer power of the cyclone that devastated it. Dhanushkodi was once a thriving town until it was completely destroyed by a cyclone in 1964. Today, its remnants—like the old church—stand as haunting landmarks of what once was. I wish I could hear the real-time stories from those who lived through it, stories of survival, loss, and resilience.

This is not the story I want to tell here just yet. Those stories will come later. For now, I want to begin this journey of documenting cyclones, their impact, and my own connection to them. 

Through this blog, I plan to share not just the science of cyclones—though I’ll dig into that too (here and there) —but the human side of it. How do we prepare? How do we feel when the skies darken and the warnings come? What do we remember years later when the storm has passed? For me, it’s not just about the weather; it’s about the stories that come with it. Like the time my aunt insisted on cooking a feast right before a cyclone hit, saying, “If the power goes, at least we’ll eat well!” Or how my cousins and I would bet on how high the waters would climb up on the road.

This series will be my way of documenting the cyclones of today and tomorrow, bringing my personal lens with practical tips for others who live on the coast or love outdoor adventures. Maybe you’re someone who’s never seen a cyclone up close—through these posts, I hope to bring you there, to feel the salt in the air and the thrill of nature’s power. And if you’re a fellow cyclone-watcher, comment below, I’d love to hear your stories too.

So, here’s to the northeast monsoon 2024, to the cyclones that mark our years, and to this new journey on Outdoor Being. Let’s chase the storms together.