I normally sleep with my curtains drawn open. My bed is right next to the french windows, and I get an uninterrupted view right upto Aksa, and a thin sliver of sea after kilometers of hutments, creek, coconut trees, etc, winks back at me. On some lovely mornings, I can see the moon sink slowly into the sea, while the sunrays start staining the sky. Yes, I am an early riser. Six, six thirty. Max seven am. On school days, five fortyfive. The most beautiful moment of the day is when I open my completely myopic eyes, and fumble around for my glasses, and then look out at the view. Its been eight months now, and never fails to take my breath away.
This morning though, it made me positively asthmatic. I could see nothing. A thick fog, and a black sky. And sheets of water pouring down, and I could see the patches where the rain was pouring down, and the patches of the city around me where it was still dry. The sky was dappled with early morning rays fighting with dark stormy monsoon clouds fighting to discharge their swollen selves. I sat up and gasped at the sheer beauty of the view, and poked the husband who continued snoring. I ran out into the balcony, to feel the sheets of rain lashing me mercilessly, and the force of the wind almost throwing me back against the door.
Yes, the monsoons are here. And I spent all of last evening taking down my bamboo chiks, taking in my sofas and seatings, and stools. Arranging my pots and plants so they wouldnt fall down with the sheer gale force of the wind after one beautiful blue pottery one flew down and broke into heartbreaking shards. And all through doing that, I grumbled about the inconvenience of the rains. And where on earth was I going to find the place to store all this stuff within an already stuffed to the gills place.
This morning I forgave the monsoon for it all. Humbled abjectly, by its fury and its grace, I knew know why poets burst into poesy when faced by its sheer beauty. I could see the waves of the shimmery sea writhing in rage, the clouds racing past, the wind drilling holes into my ears.
And the surreal darkness that comes with black clouds covering the horizon, with the intermitted rays of sunlight fighting through was a scene straight out of The Lord of the Rings, a fantastical world, filled with mystery and magic. Where everyday silhouettes were erased and the fury of the rains obliterated boundaries.
Alas. No more walks in the park.
And a happy monsoon to you too.