It has been pretty dull since morning.The atmosphere is weighed down by a certain expectancy.It is the annual monsoon arrival.Though it is still not monsoon season,the good lord understands our suffering under the unforgiving sun,and does send us a few coolers here and there .......under he table.this is one such day.
The signs are predictable.There is heavy humidity in the air.Grey clouds cover the sun up.The wind zips around wth new zest.But the most beautiful and assuring sign is that of the earth.As soon as you know that a drizzle is due,there arises an most aromatic and pleasant smell that every human has loved at some point of his life.The smell of wet earth.If heaven had a smell to go by,this would be it.
Everyone is out on the streets,including me.Kids have already started running around.As though wishing the wind to move faster.cycles are brought out.The kids are now speeding around streets ,racing ith each other.Those less fortunate,are even more happy.it doesn't matter if the arrival of monsoons announces wet floors,cold food and even drenched sleep.They are as happy as anybody else.I walk down a street in such muted celebration.Beggars are moving around happier.The few coins which show that their collection has been lower than usual,do not know about happiness as much as they do.One walks up to me and says,"Baarish aane waala hai na??(Its going to rain,isn't it?)".I only nod.
It has been a hour.The wind still blows around.The cloud cover refuses to move.People begin to wonder if this is a false alarm.And just when you are ready to give up hope.It begins.A sweeping hush falls all over the place.The rain is a star when it arrives.I look up,just in time.The first pearly,transparent drop,falls onto my glasses and goes splat.Soon there are dozens of it falling all over the place.
Kids come rushing out into the open,followed by paranoid mothers calling after them.Shopkeepers take a break,and step out of their guarded 'gallas',and enjoy the moment unadulterated.A few oldies step out,under the excuse of trying to stop their grand-children fro getting drenched.But beleive me,under that pouring sky;the smile of a two year old is as wide a s that of an octagenerarian.I am drenched.But i am happy.So is everybody under this blue,blue sky.
Then it stops.Leaving us with watered hearts.the sn steps out from behind the curtains of the passing clouds.As though he had been witnessing every one of our childish antics.He smiles brightly,and finds it being reciprocated.Ironic,that a few days back the same smile was being frowned upon.But he knows.He knows how weird we are.He knows that half a month into the monsoon,we'll be cowering under broken umbrellas when the rain comes.We shall run into buildings in the road,to protect our clothes from getting wet.We shall wish the rain to go away,and sit inside pining for the warm glow of the sun.But for now,he doesn't mind if we sing praises for the Great Indian Monsoon.