Here cometh monsoon

 

The skies rumbled. Winds hissed and swished. Flashes of lightening streak-peeked through the curtained windows with thunderous authority to serve notice. I shuffled and shifted in my bed. A few more heaven-sent ‘beware-you-folks’ warnings by way of claps and refulgent flashes inspiring awe, and then down it came in all its glory and power: almost like a capricious, tantrum-throwing, long-in-waiting, estranged lover! The timing was just perfect for the rendezvous with the parched, heated-up, thirsty consort: the Earth. For, isn’t the black, beauteous Night’s silken veil- its gentle embrace and unobtrusive screen against the prying eyes, what all love-lorn suitors dream of to celebrate love?

So, night it was when monsoon came in bushels and sheets of soft silken threads. The slumbering humanity could only picture the scene in a state of dim, misty, awareness-  the old (romantic types) recalling their own youthful exuberances and the younger lot tickling with recharged desire.

It was June 24. Having kept its date - and the ‘madhur milan’ solemnized -  amorous rain-gods however, seemed in no mood to relent and let go, while the monarch of the skies, the sun, was shuffling uneasily in his resplendent chariot eager to come marching along in the east. Being a habit-worn early riser, I wanted to quit bed and hit the road for a walk but the prevailing hypnotic spell had turned me weak-kneed and dream-eyed. It kept raining, and tugging my blanket, I turned a side and was soon lost in my own little fairyland lullabied by the patter outside.

Came next day, came another night. Monsoon announced its arrival again. Would it again prevail and stay until late? No. As if on a cue it had khuda-haafized well before dawn. I went out not just for my ‘walk-ritual’, but more out of voyeuristic curiosity to relish the tell-tale marks and signs of the love-tryst between the wet heavens and the scorched earth: the spell cast and the ravages inflicted by the lusty showers of monsoon on terra firma.

An eerie hush had fallen all over. The trees were droopy and silent, perhaps a little blushful too at having witnessed the nightly goings-on. They stood still, all ears to the whispers of air; both loving the mutual gossip with conspiratorial glee: but alas imperceptible to the humankind’s (often abused and misused) senses. Not only that.  An oldish deodar - Nature’s senior citizen - defying age, had even extended its hirsute arm, to court and seduce its own kind, young and pretty, over and across the road. An elderly Eucalyptus too, shedding all shame and bigoted humankind’s silly prejudices, had bent its torso awkwardly to kiss and propose to an ornately green, young ‘damsel’ from another community, unafraid of lynching and slur of any love jihad.  The roads were wet and soiled- littered with leaf litter, broken twigs, sand, bajri and plastic, and other Anthropocene eye-sores here and there. Kuhls and streams had turned throaty, narrating the night’s tale with naughty chuckles and merry eloquence… least worried about censor, bulldozer, angry abusive mobs or any moral danda. Avian friends were however a little subdued and less chirpy, perhaps out of lack of sleep occasioned by the eventful, tempestuous, happening night.

I trudged back home in a state of fantasy-filled reverie and heard a soft, musical voice deep from within: “Nature’s vaults are bountiful, O human! ‘Tis good to let your imagination go wild at times to picture and savour its subtle and intricate workings … as also cock a snook at your prim, prudish, sanctimonious, sadhu/sant-obsessed world.”  

And I shouted with joy: “Welcome rain, welcome Monsoon.”

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