The Monsoon in India, when it arrives, feels like the first breath of air after you’ve been choked. Relief.. Personified :D The parched, dry land, takes a breath of life. It looks like the world has been resurrected. The first showers, when touch the scorching land, infinitesimal vapors of heat can be seen escaping. And the feeling of rain drops caressing my face while I ride my Scooty, heedless of the world around, is nothing less than eternal bliss. Shielding the rain, while striving to masquerade my covert wish to get drenched to my soul, then the apocryphal explanations of why I am soaked irrespective of the umbrella and the neatly folded raincoat under my seat.. uuh Nostalgia!!
The traffic jams, the puddles and the perpetual power-cuts aside, I love the headstrong and incessant, pouring and pounding tropical rains. I loved it before, but now I love it even more and pine for it for I haven’t witnessed it in ages now. The only rains I get here are the irresolute and meek temperate drizzles.
The following lines from a poem called ‘The Rain’ encapsulate my feelings appropriately:
I hear leaves drinking rain;
I hear rich leaves on top
Giving the poor beneath
Drop after drop;
'Tis a sweet noise to hear
These green leaves drinking near.
And when the Sun comes out,
After this Rain shall stop,
A wondrous Light will fill
Each dark, round drop;
I hope the Sun shines bright;
'Twill be a lovely sight.
~ William Henry Davies
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