And so the 100th post comes up

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.



About Kiran Manral

Kiran Manral published her first book, The Reluctant Detective in 2011. Since then, she has published eight books across genres till date. Her books include romance and chicklit with Once Upon A Crush (2014), All Aboard (2015), Saving Maya (2017); horror with The Face at the Window (2016) and nonfiction with Karmic Kids (2015), A Boy’s Guide to Growing Up (2016) and True Love Stories (2017). Her short stories have been published on Juggernaut, in magazines like Verve and Cosmopolitan, and have been part of anthologies like Chicken Soup for the Soul, Have a Safe Journey (2017) and Boo (2017). Her articles and columns have appeared in the Times of India, Tehelka, DNA, Yowoto, Shethepeople, New Woman, Femina, Verve, Elle, Cosmopolitan, Conde Nast Traveller, DB Post, The Telegraph, the Asian Age, iDiva, TheDailyO and more. She was shortlisted for the Femina Women Awards 2017 for Literary Contribution. She is a TEDx speaker and a mentor with Vital Voices Global Mentoring Walk 2017.
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15 Responses to And so the 100th post comes up

  1. dipali says:

    Sheer poetry, Kiran! And a happy monsoon to you too.


  2. churningthewordmill says:

    i loooorve the monsoon!! i know its sometimes a painful season in bbay..ok always a painful season… but still, its fun!! πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€


  3. Poetry indeed πŸ˜€
    We had the same thing yesterday, I was lying in bed at 5 staring at the driving rain, looming grey skies, the trees outside the window.. it was beautiful :). Spent the whole day in a kind of limbo between heaven and earth, wakefulness and sleep, suddenly seeing all the green where usually the concrete takes precedence.
    I love the monsoon πŸ™‚


  4. Oh, can we have pics of the new look in the house? Pleeease, Lady K?


  5. d says:

    Lovely to see that rains inspire poetry in your normally humorous, sarcasm-prone and wit-ridden oeuvre! Thanks for sharing … that was really nice.


  6. ~nm says:

    I came here to ask what radicalancient has already asked for – Pics! Did you click or were you so immersed in the beauty that you forgot the camera? πŸ™‚

    I try to tell my dad that I’m an early riser when I tell him I wake up at 6:30. He hushes me up saying early rising means waking up by atleast 5 AM!! I just shrink back and say okay..I’m not an early riser πŸ˜›



  7. Chips says:

    What a wonderful picture you paint of the Mumbai monsoons!! Makes me nostalgic. Thank you!
    One of the most amazing smells is that of mud after the first rains.
    I love the rains when I am sitting indoors!


  8. sandhya says:

    Beautiful post. I lurve the description. Makes me want to buy some sea-side property, except, there’s no money in the piggy bank
    p.s: β€œWill eat for food”?! RRRRRROTFL


  9. DotThoughts says:

    How beautiful! You made me go all nostalgic. Happy Monsoon to you and on the century! Here’s more to monsoons and posts.


  10. Random Vignettes says:

    NOTHING beats the first day of rains back home in Bombay. I swear to God it feels as if the air shimmers with magic of some kind.

    The remaining three months are altogether something else though.

    Homesick..completely homesick after this tho//


  11. So beautiful, brought back memories of the first rains back in Calcutta. Happy Monsoon to you, too. And congratulations on the 100th post – here’s to many more to come!


  12. chandni says:

    u write amazingly well!

    Congrats on the 100th…may there be a 1000 more!


  13. sraikh says:

    What a beautiful post!
    *Raising my glass to celebrate many more posts*


  14. Priyanka says:

    Envy you Kiran. You write humour so well and now this!!
    Monsoon somehow always makes me crave for a cup of tea, onion pakoras, a good book and a window seat πŸ™‚


  15. Kiran Manral says:

    Dipali: Thanks dear.

    MAndira: Youre darned right. Beautiful and bloody painful.

    Suki: Brill. Am going to do a memories of the monsoon post.

    d: Oh that was a short burst of purple poesy that has slunk back abashed. Am back to sarcasm, my old friend.

    ~nm: Alas the camera is on the blink, you have to rely on my purple prose to paint a visual picture. You know considering the fact that average bed time is 12.30 – one am, I am pretty proud of my five fortyfive.

    Chips: From where we were it was the smell of the creek after the first rains, and that was not a smell you want to inhale too long.

    Sandhya: Yup. Will eat for food. Thats me.

    Dottie: Thanks.

    RV: You’re bang on. Already sickened by the excess water drowning my life, and totally sleep deprived with the wind rattling our balcony panes all through the night.

    Chandni, Margarita: Thank you so much.

    sraikh: *clinking glass*

    Priyanka: Lol, thank you. I am actually a purple proser hiding underneath the humour.
    And yes, give me the pakoras and the ginger tea and a good book anyday too.


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