I’m turning into a poet. After the scorching, humid summer months, I have heavy rain outside my window as I sit to write this. The wind is strong and brings in a spray of refreshing droplets of this celebration. I can smell the wet earth and see hardly anything outside the window beyond my jamun tree that literally touches the window, the rain is that strong.
The tree seems to be very happy though. Its leaves are fresh and green and wet. It sways in the strong wind. Blurry beyond it is the road and the people and vehicles on it, getting a thorough washing after months of dirt and pollution. As the rain stops, I see a fresh world becoming visible. Gone is the weary drag of everything. The air is crisp, everything looks fresh. Its time to welcome the monsoon again.
