Word: monsoonal
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Through the Mud. On the Goa border near the town of Banda last week while the sullen monsoon rains fell, some 60 satyagrahis, watched by a small group of foreign newsmen, unfurled India's tricolors and squashed through the mud towards Goa, shouting "Goa India ek hail" (Goa and India are one). In a stone customs post at the border were ten Portuguese and Goan policemen armed with rifles and Sten guns. Half concealed in thick bush behind them were white Portuguese and Negro soldiers from Mozambique. The satyagrahis had advanced 30 feet inside the Goa border when...
...varsity tennis team, disregarding the monsoon, has traveled to New York, where it will meet Columbia today for the first of two weekend away matches. Tomorrow the Crimson will oppose mediocre Pennsylvania...
...first rains of the monsoon showered down upon Saigon (pop. 2,000,000), cooling the weather but not the city's jittery nerves. There were quiet Buddhist ceremonies in Chinese pagodas, a pink and white wedding at the cathedral, and an outward pose of calm. But heavily armed gangsters and cops of the Binh Xuyen sect, in their arsenic-green berets, patrolled the boulevards, ordering traffic, and blockading the city's approaches so that they could control the price and supply of rice. Steel-helmeted nationalist paratroopers of Premier Ngo Dinh Diem were also out on patrol...
With apparent inconsequentiality, U Nu chattered on about his country. "Burma is a hot country. In all the three seasons-summer, the monsoon and winter-people are perspiring." He added blandly: "I had seen that his Excellency Premier Chou En-lai was perspiring profusely under the fans." It was a sly dig: in Burma, a man is said to be "sweating under the fans" when he has something on his conscience...
...grumpy was Jawaharlal Nehru last week. It was the temper-trying month before the monsoon, and the rains that had brought floods to the Brahmaputra Valley had not yet brought relief to New Delhi. In the dusty streets, bullocks steamed and lepers drowsed beside their begging bowls; in his office, a peevish Prime Minister grumbled about curdled milk, loudly complained about a badly designed public building, ticked off a Hindi language enthusiast in testy Hindi, finally flounced off for an hour's relaxation at a private screening of Danny Kaye's Knock on Wood...