I'm sitting just outside our front door, legs propped up on another chair, and tweeting away while the rain pours down.
An hour ago, a friend and I walked out of a salon, both with hair gleaming like silk, and poker straight, feeling very nice and girly after a nice hair spa - so what if we've paid a packet for it. Half an hour later, we walked out of a cafe to see it was pouring cats and dogs, and not a single auto in sight. Our hair was ruined. We were drenched. And by the time we got home, the cold wind in the auto had made huge rashes break out all over my right arm. My friend was horrified. Me? I couldn't stop laughing with glee.
Rain does that to me. I've loved rain for as long as I can remember. There's something about the world looks after a good downpour. All seems right with the world.
The mother believes rain is auspicious. That if it rains on an important occasion, it's a good omen. So we've always been glad that it somehow always rained the day we moved home. The day we played the World Cup final. The day I gave my first job interview. The day a friend got married.
Sure, there are traffic snarls. And power cuts. And I have a terrible tendency to get stranded in the middle of nowhere. But the trees look greener, the earth smells wonderful, and my twitter timeline gets flooded with some gorgeous photos. And life feels good.
I woke up this morning to the sound of rain falling on our home's skylight. And it crossed my mind that that's a sound I will miss terribly when I move to another country in about three months' time. Then when I got drenched this evening, it struck me while I was laughing that I won't see a Delhi/Gurgaon monsoon for another two years at the very least. And the pangs of parting hit me again.
An hour ago, a friend and I walked out of a salon, both with hair gleaming like silk, and poker straight, feeling very nice and girly after a nice hair spa - so what if we've paid a packet for it. Half an hour later, we walked out of a cafe to see it was pouring cats and dogs, and not a single auto in sight. Our hair was ruined. We were drenched. And by the time we got home, the cold wind in the auto had made huge rashes break out all over my right arm. My friend was horrified. Me? I couldn't stop laughing with glee.
Rain does that to me. I've loved rain for as long as I can remember. There's something about the world looks after a good downpour. All seems right with the world.
The mother believes rain is auspicious. That if it rains on an important occasion, it's a good omen. So we've always been glad that it somehow always rained the day we moved home. The day we played the World Cup final. The day I gave my first job interview. The day a friend got married.
Sure, there are traffic snarls. And power cuts. And I have a terrible tendency to get stranded in the middle of nowhere. But the trees look greener, the earth smells wonderful, and my twitter timeline gets flooded with some gorgeous photos. And life feels good.
I woke up this morning to the sound of rain falling on our home's skylight. And it crossed my mind that that's a sound I will miss terribly when I move to another country in about three months' time. Then when I got drenched this evening, it struck me while I was laughing that I won't see a Delhi/Gurgaon monsoon for another two years at the very least. And the pangs of parting hit me again.
3 comments:
I dunno, the monsoon followed me to Melbourne. This year's been the most rainfall it's ever got. Naturally, I am being blamed for the weather peculiarities.
I know what you mean! I always get all happy if nostalgic when it rains - you know, when you want to cry and smile at the same time. The smells and the sounds and the sights and everything else that goes with it. I'll never understand how people can hate rain. At least the ones from India.
Someone once told me that it always rains on Janmashtami, even if it's just a few droplets.
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