I just came across an essay I wrote as a child. It says “India is a beautiful country. It has three seasons. The rainy season is the best season. I love to row paper boats and get drenched with my friends. Mom yells at me every time I do so. I think she also wants to row boats.”

Hardly did I know then, that this is indeed going to turn out to be the best season. The drizzles. The pour. The chai. The roar. The garma garam bhajiyas. The children in galiyas. I still love it all. There’s no drenching or rowing the boats though.

I have always written my best poems, clicked the best pictures, read the best books (last year: The God of Small Things), and enjoyed my best meals during the rains. Trust me, there is nothing better than the pithla bhakri atop Sinhgad.

And as I write this, I have  “To Kill a Mocking Bird” in one hand, and a hot cup of tea in the other. And the view is something like this:

Earlier this morning it was this:

Jealous eh? Good, that’s all I wanted to accomplish with this post.

One thought on “Rains

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