Amidst all the moving in and out; I totally forgot about completing four long years of blogging in April this year. Nevertheless let’s smile and celebrate our conversations and my monologues in the last four years and our frequent and at times rare rendezvous. Thank you for standing by throughout.
This year the Bombay summers were quite harsh like usual and we all silently hoped for calming monsoons from our little pockets of the island. Then one day the clouds gathered to hide us all and left us drenched as we flaunted our dusty umbrellas and torn raincoats. Staring at the enormous skyline, we welcomed the non-resident Bombay monsoons.
The trains were once again flooded with watery boots, sparkling windows and smiling faces. We all were well armed for the anticipated heavy showers until one day the clouds cunningly went back in their conch flanked by the beaming sun.
The entire month of June has passed by and the rains have conveniently escaped our thoughts. My hometown too longs for the showers like rest of India. What happened to the Rain God and what happened to the time that was once called the monsoon?
From my monsoon journal; kindly ignore the grammar :)
It used to be the time for blurred lights,
The piping hot chai and the milky coffees;
For the latecomers and early risers,
Droplet dreamers and sunshine escapists;
The umbrellas so dusty to come out and take on
The water so mucky.
It used to be the time for the reflections so blurry,
And dreams so catchy.
June was for all this and July was for this too,
August swung in the mud as September hid in the puddles.
Once, this used to be the monsoon.
I will soon be previewing my journals, nervous and excited and hoping that everything falls in place, much love.