She feels she needs to leave

She’s running, slipping away from us. The monsoon. At a 40% deficit, we’ve had an absolutely disastrous season. I do feel a bit odd typing this as it’s pouring cats and dogs behind me. It’s been lashing down for two days straight now, but it’s been like an afterthought – almost like some last minute attempt to give it one last shot, with all it’s got. To say the monsoon has been dismal this year would be a serious understatement. And as with all the other completely expected and predicted weather variations, the monsoon too has taken a beating. We had an awful summer, hotter than hot, so of course the monsoon had to follow suit. And fail.

Let me not look a gift horse in the mouth. Der aaye, durust aaye and all that.

It’s been a beautiful few days, washed clean after the horribly hot, oppressive weekend. And I’m not talking about the weather alone, there. The skies were clear blue, with soft wispy clouds painting patterns across in wide streaky shapes. Like whipped soft peaks marbled into pale blue souffle.


The clouds looked like they were making an effort to cheer me up – I really needed things to look up for me. Ironic how one usually associates rainy weather with grim, damp, cold days and the shining of the sun usually heralds happy times again. But I was done with the sun beating down relentlessly.

I felt the need to leave. I wanted to look away, hide and stay covered until there was some respite. Because there was no cloud cover to speak of, it was bright, blindingly so. And hot as hell, with not so much as a light breeze.


Finally there was rain. On Sunday night. I usually feel like its some kind of reboot. Everything gets washed, wiped down. The haze clears, the cloud over my head had burst. And it hasn’t stopped.

As if on cue, I turned the music back on. Loudly. Connected my laptop to the speakers, as I worked. It was turning everything back on after hitting pause for four days. My mind, my body, the music, life – everything breathed again.

And here’s what I’ve been listening to. Thanks to the new (is it really new? or have I only just noticed it?) autoplay feature, and what seems like some spanking new algorithm that really knows how to hit the spot, youtube has thrown up some gems over the last three days. Mixes, playlists and general gathering of some of my old monsoon favourites, some new discoveries and the music hasn’t stopped.

VC has had it hard. Waking up to loud, but mellow rain music. Walking in to the home and saying hi, but not being heard above the din. Going to sleep to the strains of music he doesn’t know and doesn’t get, but that he tolerates nonetheless.

Junip with their beats and basslines that dig into your brain and embed themselves there. And that dream-like voice that Joze Gonsalez has. This has been the list that played the longest and loudest.

Old (forgotten), monsoon favourite: Zero7 + old-new (forgotten) monsoon staple: Bonobo = this playlist. A whopper with 70 tracks. I barely forwarded through this one and that is a rare thing.

I have no idea who Robert Glasper is or what this Experiment is all about, but it has been a pleasant discovery. Good loungy-ambient-electronic music with touches of other stuff that makes for good background music. Listening to this is like being in a cafe while trying to work. Works perfectly for me.

Ihave this massive dump of Bonobo that I’ve had for about five years now. The kind of giant chunk of music you never get around to fully weeding through. You find your favourites and you keep with them, until suddenly you discover a gem by accident, or youtube autoplays it – whichever happens first. And then you go back and dig out the album and realise it’s awesome. That.



“She feels she needs to leave
When the fields are all covered in frost
And the dreams begin to breathe
Opening the partly open locks

While the others start to disagree
On returning to rough and moving grounds
And if I should come to be relieved
Would it be without you?”


3 thoughts on “She feels she needs to leave

Pour your thoughts over mine

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.