Monday, July 2

Rain, rain come again

At times the drizzle, the soft caressing of the skin, blowing into the hair. Like love.

At times the heavy pouring that clings to the kurta. soaks every strand of you and trickles from the nose. Invasive and personal.

At times the howling storm that throws itself on the French window like bad intent.Demanding and angry.

Drizzle or deluge, rains in this city permeate you.

And its here again.

It soaks you under the hapless umbrella every now and then. It invades your living room with mud stained flip flops. It walks with you on the Bandstand promenade on a lonely high tide evening. It huddles with you on a cab ride home. It’s everywhere, in the wet car seat, in the fungal smell of half dried clothes, the washed roads, the staying-in, the venturing –out, the stranded children at the bus stop, the walking-togetherness of a couple and the heightened feeling of romance within.


darksunshine said...

rains- the unrelenting muse to us all. i am loving i keep saying, as long as i do not ve to wade thru the slime.

i like ur coinage...'like bad intent'. n fungal smell of half dried clothes is something even i can do without...but it will sure follow in the untouched by sunlight, cupboards. reminds me of TISS.

But on a high tide i dont think it walks with you...thats too tame (a drizzle will walk with you). rather it hits u in loud spalshes. the take it or leave it, kinds!

shikha said...

ok...the buddha speaks again:)


Neetu said...

um experiencing it..all the time..

shikha said...

wonder why a writer with so many readers needs to be puched each time to post something here???


shikha said...

hi there. too much clutter...??? dont feel like writing or just a writers block!!!!

Ok, all of us shall wait:(

shikha said...

is anybody in there?