The Monsoon on the Coast

We are travelling on the Konkan railway between Mangalore and Goa and the monsoon makes a lovely movie outside the window.
The first thing I learn about the monsoon is that it makes the world very colourful indeed. The black track against the silver stones near the red mud by the green field and the gunmetal blue sky.
There are so many things to watch - both in the train and outside. Opposite us a man with a sensitive face kisses his sleeping child. Outside, a man walks on the fields with the tread of a man on his own land. We cross bridges across rivers swelled with the rain. Women in bright saris, pink, blue and red, till the pale green fields. Some ladies walk in a line holding cane baskets full of bright green paddy and a man cycles on the road holding a bright orange umbrella in one hand. Raindrops fall on the trackside touch me not plants, closing them gently. Raindrops dance on the window bars, to the rhythm of the movement of the train.
There are so many patterns, so many songs. The plough drawing pictures in the mud, the patterns of the clouds, the cycles of growing things fitting in to the larger rhythm of the seasons.
I look out of the window wondering which is more beautiful - the rain or the land that it falls upon.