Rainy days are here again

With the monsoon, has arrived the season of mosquiotes and houseflies. The dry leaves which looked so dull a few weeks back, now shine with a zest. It looks forward to more such sessions of annual bathing.

Ofcourse, with the scenic beauty, one also has to tolerate the irritating flies that make themselves comfortable with almost any object they find in their way. The repeated attempts to destroy them would only lead to the destroyer going nuts and maybe ending up with a high BP. Not to forget, the muddy puddle filled potholes that decorate the roads, which the municiple department swears to having been repaired and in top condition for the rains. Suddenly, from nowhere hundreds of tiny streams emerge on the path swiftly making its way past the stinking garbage, the urinated corners, touching my foot and then carrying on its journey to finally merge into the dirty, greyish black nullah.

When I walk on the footpath lined with trees, the leaves shed the raindrops and hit my head like bullets. I can hear the sound ‘tick’, ‘tick’ on my skull and grudgingly looking at the tree. To top it all, the wind that accompanies the rains, makes it impossible to hold the umbrella and avoid being wet.

Even if I don’t hate the rains, I don’t have a particular liking for it. I enjoy watching it under the shelter of my home with a piping, hot cup of tea in an earthern cup to sip at, a nice song (perferably Carpenters) playing at the background and an interesting mystrey novel to read. Now, wouldn’t that be lovely.

I imagine this and sigh at my desk every time I see the rain sway this way and that through the huge french window at my office. If only I had time…

What a paradox…just a month back I was complaining of too much time and now I wearily admit to lack of it. The rains don’t help much either. The cold gust and raindrops brush past my face and I yearns for freedom…to get wet, to stand at the tip of rocks jutting out to the sea, to watch the turbulent grey waters trying to reach the dark sky unleashing lightning at the edge of a hill…

I know I am dreamer, but what’s the harm of dreaming these things even if they remain a fiction…or will they?