Lying on the bed, deeply engrossed in watching the final episode of a favourite web-series on high volume, a sudden rise in audio elsewhere drives my eyeballs onto the large French windows infront of me. There depicts the ever-pleasing rain with it’s classic scintillations, soaking up the walls, washing away the balconies and sliding down the proud and protective awnings.
Yes, it unmistakably was the sound of the rain. Nothing possibly beats the innate pleasure of the moment when an earthy smell reaches you with a friendly breeze grazing alongside.
Evidently, my heart endorses a never-ending tryst with rains and never have I ever felt those mighty showers to be at any rate unwelcoming. It is quite the beauty worth to admire, and thereby to witness the skyline slowly disappearing into the hues of grey.
With hues it strikes me on the contrary, how satisfyingly vibrant the earth turns, with the slightest touch of water. Clay roads drenched with rich red, flowers brightened up a tinge, greenery livened up a notch, is pretty much the picture at any given time. Monsoons, in togetherness, looks nothing short of a deconstructed rainbow!
Similar, if not better, to the cloud that has a silver lining, our every lazing moment of monsoon carries an invisible sheen, that emits from those beaming, moist and gleamy eyes of our nation’s farmers! Those happily blurred visions are arguably crystal clear paths to the daily survival of us ignorant chaps.
May they always be blessed with the best of the rainfalls every year, for we wouldn’t ever know what it takes to be the backbone of a nation, except to celebrate the fruits of success!