Monsoon is here and with it, a memory of joy it has to offer.
I remember my school declaring an off on a thunder-bolted rainy day. They feared the wrath of merciless downpour upon children. Radio, newspapers and television declared they were anticipating harsh rains later that day. Those days, updates and instructions didn’t come over Whatsapp. Life was more manual than technical. So, upon reaching school, I was sent back home while the clouds were at rest.
Happiness overwhelmed within my heart. For me it was a no class and a no home-work holiday. Instead of heading home to a safe shelter, I chose be an adventurer and wander.
As I walked, the dark grey clouds eventually let go of the rain it held within its belly for so long. Instead of hiding under canopies of roadside shops like many who did, I was out embracing every drop barrage upon me. Those droplets allied by wind made me feel cold, jittery, and wet. It also made me drink the experience and thrill of it all – my drenched uniform, my little black Bata shoes swamping my feet, and that intoxicating smell off the muddy ground.
When I got home, my mum toweled my perky hair to dry me up; I sneezed a achoo in gratitude.
And here I am, over a decade later, sipping tea at office-break as I embrace the breeze of nostalgia. This leaves me wondering if there are others like me, affected by the very breeze that touches a fond memory of mine.
The monsoon wind found out that lost kid I once was… It may find me again a decade later, reminding the nostalgic encounter I just had today.