Around this time, next month, you’re going to have me cribbing about the rain. Because by then, a month long of incessant downpour would have soaked my brains, my home will have turned into a dhobhi ghaat, my pillows will definitely be mildew-y, and the helplessness of not finding a dry spot for miles would have seriously started to get on my nerves. But until then, let it be known how much I love the first month of rain. Because it brings with it a freshness that is so needed after the wretched May heat. It is as refreshing as a cold evening shower after a long sweltering day. It is like looking at the world through magic glasses that make everything dreamy, bright and grey. I know, bright and grey don’t quite go, but while everything wears a cloudy grey hue, there is a perfect crisp clarity that is difficult to miss.
I think what I love about the monsoon is how every morning brings a different view. Insanely saturated blue skies one day, and waves of gray the next. Blank, spotlessly dark one day and wispy rain-filled clouds the next. I’m really lapping it up.
I love how everything wears a freshly washed look. The trees are greener than green and the streets washed through. Everything feels crisper than ever and I can’t feel blue even if I wanted to. I love how the air breathes joy.
I love how the evenings are longer, with the sun confusing the bejesus out of me, when I return home at 7.30 to see its still light outside.
I love the soaked alleys and drippy little signs of how lovely and rich the rain makes everything.
I love how everything feels like someone pumped up the saturation levels in life, filling colour in places I hadn’t noticed before.
But I guess what I love the most is the freshness. Like hitting refresh and getting a new perspective. The rain makes me appreciate the time of confusion, instead of constantly brood and hate it. Clarity is always nice, and maybe I wouldn’t take it and own it for what it is, without the confusion that preceeded it. Clarity, without confusion is like freshness, without the rain. Dull, dreary and just dry.
If I had this freshness minus the rain, would I still feel the same weak knees when I surrender to an epiphany? Would I feel the flutter of excitement in my stomach every time I think of the newness that awaits me? Would things still be as clear? Would I still feel happy?
It makes me wonder what fear would feel like, if I didn’t have the rain to swoop in, and wash everything away in one single move?