I look outside through the window. The trees look unnaturally beautiful, the flowers look unusually bright, there is a sudden burst of life in it all. And yet, it seems like I'm dreaming. All because I see it through a mist, a dreamy layer that sends a shiver of pure joy through me. The beauty continues to surprise and mesmerize me.
People walk in wet and happy and laughing. There is a current of joy that envelopes all. There is a smile on every face.
The trees form a canopy over our heads. The magic envelopes us in it's moist folds. And as I amble through with loved ones, I feel like the princess I've always dreamt of being.
The roads are all flooded, the roofs are all leaking, and yet, it's considered a blessing from the heavens.
The sea, like one who has lost his love, continues to thrash and crash, and frighten. It's all consuming fury, a warning. Suddenly, it's no more fury that we hear. It's passion. The sound of love so pure, so violent, that the sky catches fire.
We sit, our bodies confined within the four walls of mackiavelli, five year plans, caste discrimination, environmental ethics and what not. Our souls float outside, free, in the rain, dreaming of Shakespeare and Wordsworth.
Welcome home, monsoon. I'm glad you finally decided to visit us.
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