Traveling in locals (assuming that they are working) during the heavy monsoon showers is an unique experience. You have the surreal pleasure of enjoying the beauty of the gray skies and the cool moist breeze – without getting wet or squashing through mud!!
You can watch the silver droplets rain from the sky, you can see the thirsty trees spreading their branches out towards the heavens, and some will even dance to the preppy beats of the wind. You can marvel at the gray clouds with streaks of pale sunlight cutting in between. They seem to have thrown a dark blanket over the city, and Time has curled itself up in it, and gone to sleep. It’s hard to say whether it’s 6 in the morning, 2 in the afternoon or 5 in the evening, if not for your dogged watch – the ultimate workaholic!
You can bring your face close to the window bars, close your eyes, and enjoy the soft, wet kisses of the raindrops.
Or you can be like me – you can take a seat back, and enjoy the masterpiece.
I am at my desk, poring over the reading material for tomorrow’s class, when a loud shout of glee breaks my concentration.
I hear a steady pitter-patter….could it really be?!….I run to the adjoining balcony. Yes, it is raining!
My shriek of elation adds to the cacophony of the gleeful cries and whoops of joy of the neighbourhood kids, who have run out to get wet in the first showers of the year.
I stretch my hands out, as far as they go and try to catch as many of the delightfully wet raindrops as I can. They slither down my palm, leaving a delightfully cool sensation behind.
Now comes the strong gusts of Wind – someone must have told it that the raindrops are here, and the wild monsoon party, can finally begin!!
The rich aroma of damp earth and wet grass overwhelms my senses, and I breathe it in — revel in it.
After days of blistering heat, the cool monsoon is a refreshing change. Like the sympathetic smile of a close friend after a careworn day, the sight of the pouring clouds fill me with joy and make me forget all my worries; like the soothing sensation of a mother’s touch, when you are down with fever, the feel of the raindrops on my palm soothe me; like the melody of a lover’s laugh, the soft sound of the falling rain and the passionate cries of the wind fill me with contended jubilation.
Nature rejoices with me. The cypress trees dance with wild abandon in the wind, the glistening leaves play to the tune of the rain drops and the children dance with joy.
I know, soon, within a few weeks probably, there will come a day, when I will be tired of the monsoon, and the mud, and the damp humidity, and long for the sunrays. But that day is not today – today I will lean out of the window, close my eyes, and welcome the monsoon.
…..the notes lie untouched on my desk.
She takes a deep breath and inhales the salty wet smell of the ocean. The breeze lifts her hair and it flows behind her like a veil. She screams – a sound of pure, unrestrained joy! She is 18, and Life stretches in front of her like an ocean of promises.
She is 42 looking at a faded photograph. The walls of her house in the suburbs suffocates her, like a caged canary, who forgot how to sing. In the photoframes on the mantelpiece she searches for an innocent, carefree teenager; eyes brimming with wistful dreams. She sees a dutiful wife and a doting mother. In the mirror she meets the disillusioned eyes of a middle-aged woman.
The king-sized bed with its satin duvet is too soft for her – she longs for the granular sandy ground under the nylon sleeping bag. In the sparkle of the chandelier she searches for the soft twinkles of the stars. In the ceiling-mosaic she looks for the white swirl of the clouds.
Her house has four bedrooms, but she longs for a blue four-seater van. She would happily forgo her walk-in closet for one black-and-red rucksack – her entire life for one more vacation with her friends.
“Wasn’t that the definition of home? Not where you are from, but where you are wanted?” Abraham Verghese
This post is in response to the prompt on Mia Madison’s blog.