The Monsoon Memoirs...

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After the scorching summer, there started drizzling, the silver drops of monsoon. There was the smell of fresh mud and the song of the rejoicing crickets at the dusk. Cuddled in my grandmother"s lap, I listened to the falling of the last mangoes in that monsoon-beginning day. There was the evening lamp glittering gloriously at the doorstep to welcome the prosperity on the backdrop of the soothing smell of agarbathi. I slipped into a refreshing sleep anticipating the rain of prosperities in my life. This is my first memory about monsoon.

The innocent life of childhood is just like the lives of rain flies. They will come, celebrate the carefree life for a few moments and then unknowingly burn into the flame of their passion. In the same fashion my childhood slipped away from my hands even before I"d realized its value.

My entry into the real competitive world began on a monsoon day as I crossed my school gates for the first time. I was drenched all over, partly because of the rain and then of the tears of stymies. The raindrops on that day never soothed me as they continue to spoil my new dress, bag and shoes. There were many like me whose eyes were competing to beat the water drops outside. The upcoming years quenched the tears in my eyes whereas each monsoon sprouted a new challenge in my life.

The monsoon drops acquired a new colour and smell during the springtime in my life. It was in one such monsoon days that I finished reading Gone With The Wind. I had the same passion, zest and aspirations as Scarlett O"Hra. Drenched in a crazy monsoon rain and looking at the horizon, I was anticipating the blooming of a the wind and thunderstorms in my life.

The monsoon near seashore is always as violent as the unknown depth of the sea. In one such monsoon at seashore, instead of a going with the wind, I was getting the thunderstorms and lightening in my life. Life never turned out to be the same again, despite the soothing drops continue to rain in a same manner. The next monsoon drops took away the heat in my body and mind. However my life acquired a rhythmic pattern as the monsoon drops paving the way at times to sunshine or thunderstorm.

Here now is the beginning of a new monsoon. There is a bud waiting to sprout inside me. I wonder whether my monsoon memoirs will be same for him/her.