I feel the monsoon..

Experienced, I have, the rivers, the beaches and the water falls, but seldom have I the monsoon. Scattered rainfalls and cyclonic rainfalls have defined my monsoon till now..

With utmost curiosity, from the windows of this library, I watch as the clouds move past. The winds blow them, and they sail away undisturbed, as another cloud takes its place. This continues, intermittent, leaving behind no trail.

An occasional sparrow flies up and back down, probably she’s playing with her sibling. She mocks at me! Dark are the clouds, ready to pour, just that I don’t know where. The butterflies have their share of fun, for when it rains they need to find a shelter. Drizzles appear on the window, drop by drop, disrupting my vision. I hear the raindrops.

As a child, I’ve wondered, if I could ever catch rain, use it as a rope and climb up to the clouds! As I grew, I realized, rains are a prodigy.

The mist covers it all. The rain drenches the Earth. I see it not. Window in front, and a book between us.

The book calls, and I am back to reading as the rain taps softly against the aged window panes, the clouds float away, and the rest safely assured.

What remains is the redolent fragrance of the South-West monsoon…

Let it flow..

           Technology, Revolution, Advancements. Everything at our own disposal; Life needs no exertion, and so does writing. The pen and paper era has gone, the typewriters are long lost.

           I wonder if I would ever teach my kids to write like my Dad did to me – beginning from a pencil, to crayons, to scribbling on walls. To absurd nothings and the evolution of my Being to holding a pen – I wonder.

           As I write now, she flows like the alluring river bearing resemblance to the early morning rays streaming through the clouds.

           A good student needs a good teacher, a good food needs a good dessert, a good car needs a good driver and a good writer needs a good pen. Whether thoughts flow or not, the pen must make you write pulling every single word out of your little heart.

I write, because I hold a pen.