What the wind carries Elin Suriya

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What the wind carries

On kites, monsoon afternoons, and the sort of quiet that arrives only after a storm.

by Elin Suriya 1 minute read

The best afternoon of my childhood involved a kite, a field behind a row of shophouses, and a wind that could not decide what it wanted. My cousin held the line. I ran. We were bad at it in a way that felt enormously important.

I have been thinking about that field because I have spent this week writing about wind, and I keep having to stop and check what I actually know about it against what I have imagined.

The monsoon has a manner

People who have not lived through one imagine drama. Mostly it is a routine. The sky goes the colour of an old coin somewhere after three. The air gets heavy in a way you feel behind your ears. Then it comes down like someone emptying a bucket, and it is loud, and it is over, and everything smells of hot ground cooling.

The part I find myself writing about again and again is not the rain. It is the twenty minutes after, when the drains are still talking and nobody has come back outside yet.

Silence after noise is a different substance from silence that was always there.

Why it ends up in the books

I did not set out to write about weather. But when you write for readers who are ten or eleven, you quickly learn that they will forgive you almost anything except vagueness. They want to know what it smelled like. They want to know whether the ground was hot.

A child reading has a very good instrument for detecting an adult who is bluffing. The only way past it is to have actually stood in the field, holding the line badly, while somebody ran.

Wind carries more than kites in The Girl Who Kept the Wind, where every child is born with a wind that carries their voice.

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