Sitting on my windowsill with a warm cup of coffee in my hand, its vapor touching my nose and a sad smile on my face. Looking at those tenebrous mysterious nimbus clouds which hold its own secrets and the darkness all around as if an apocalypse is just on the edge of its occurrence. Rains are depressing. No offense to those who love them, but for me, they are a semblance of those sinister, gloomy, disconsolate shadows of dingy, saturnine quandam. Hence it lead me to go through the memory lane. Straying in those sweet memories and just losing myself.

Its not that I always hated them. No. There was a time when monsoon was my favourite season. I remember my little self getting all excited and happy seeing the few droplets of water from the balcony and running around the house yelling that I want to go to the terrace to get drenched in the natural shower; shower of not just water but also of love, of belongingness, of childish innocence, and the carefree giggles. Without a facade to maintain, just delirious and naif and loving the world. Those were the days I wish, would come back but that is just wistful thinking.

Gradually, the love for deluge attenuated. I had to go to places, attend my classes, spend time with friends and do all those necessary works which I wasn’t able to coz of heavy downpour. That exhilaration I used to feel upon seeing the precipitation, perished with time. And that shower of love, innocence and giggles turned into a shower of temporary, selfish and fake people. But it was beneficial too, as my naive and immature heart needed to experience things to grow.

Eventually, that bit of like for the rainfall turned into dislike. I began sitting at home with windows closed and curtains drawn, just trying to drown in the bittersweet aroma of that warm coffee and the warmth oozing from the cup, the smell of old books, immersed in the feels of the characters in it, as if I’m one of them. Its inexplicable how these little things can help forget the pain, the morose of those unwanted remembrances. Coz now those showers of temporary, selfish and fake people turned into the showers of the inhumane, vicious and betraying people and the cerebration of those painful, heartbreaking memories and them crusading to form insecurities and fears.

Yet, once in a while, I sit down on the windowsill, and look at the water droplets, dripping recurrently from those cryptic, inscrutable nimbus clouds and attempt to find that silly, innocent, little girl who used to get excited and happy seeing those droplets of water and languishing to dance in the quixotic, romantic rain…..

Published by somewhere_isolated

A passionate reader and an aspiring author, I love evincing my thoughts and opinions through words. Playing with words is an art many can try but very few are able to express. It is an intriguing and interesting art, I wish to master.

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