It's been pouring cats, dogs and a whole bunch of other pets lately. Global Warming, you say? Surprisingly, no one's complaining. Sure we have potholes to steer clear of and mosquitoes to flinch from, but that's the characteristic feature of every rainy season. What's the fun of enjoying your annual Barsaat without reading news of roads caving in and people admitted to the hospital because of a 'mutated form of dengue'.
Roorkee is no exception, nor is Delhi. The modern vitriolic form of 'i'Flu, capable of causing immense pain to anyone in the apple network, has spared but only a few in the campus. And yours truly happens to be one of the fortunate ones... hitherto. The initial power cuts which caused many a change in the sleep pattern of R denizens has fortunately retracted into oblivion. Department of Electrical Engineering to the rescue. *Proud*
So what's so different about the rains? Why does on feel drawn towards the falling droplets? Why do you feel enticed by the dark clouds, the gentle gale?
Nostalgia. The rains are the major causing factor. You reminisce about the past, look ahead to the future. The present is subliminally forgotten. Maybe it takes you to a place that is as alluring and satiating as the monsoons itself.
As it rains outside the window and I comfortably perch myself on the diwan with Masala Chai and Matar Parathas, I feel revitalised. Home does that you, innit? Aided by the rains. And the khana, of course.
Off to the kitchen for another cuppa chai, if you please.
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