Friday, June 06, 2008

Monsoon, come she will.

Her journey has been long, yet she isn't tired. The old and the young await her arrival with bated breath. The young ones look upon her coming as the jail break they needed from the shackles of the dreary summer, already a distant memory; the old feel a return to innocence and reminisce the days of their youth. In the hustling-bustling city where life never seems to stops there is one moment which holds everybody grounded and breathless. The air, heavy and still, is ripe with the scent of her arrival, now imminent. The usually noisy avian residents of the telephone wires are quiet, the way school children become when faced with the towering persona of their principal. As though sullied by the rush of her chariot, the clouds are dark, rendering Apollo into a mortal, helpless spectator. She sheds her first tear drop, the first of countless. And all of creation rejoices.

1 comment:

Deepa D. said...

Are you in India right now? Or just missing Madame Monsoon?

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