The monsoon is almost here. It even drizzled for a bit last night. And from my vantage point of 9th floor staring into an open ground, the drops of water falling down from nothing but the dark sky, disappearing into nothing but the damp shrubs, leaving behind a trail of glowing streaks because of the yellow street lamps in the background, was pure magic. It was surreal. Like a scene out of a some famous director’s movie.
It was a sight to behold and I could sit on my bed and stare at it forever, if only the rain dint stop within like 5 minutes. And if it dint bring back the memories of sgMS sitting next to me holding onto my hand, scribbling something on a yellow post-it note. Something that would be innocent, innocuous, so simple so insightful that it would make me smile. At her, at the way she writes, at the way she doodles, at the way she is at peace next to me. At the way she makes me feel.
Thing is, rains have always been very special to me. There is something magical about the grey skies, the purest green, the damp earth, the cool wind and the occasional splash of water on my face. So much so that I am willing to ignore the interruptions caused by rains in India. More on it some other day. In the meanwhile, here’s something that I was reminded of…
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| from The Notebook |