New Beginning
Aug. 31st, 2016 08:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sagarikawilliams posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
engh_2016Monsoon marks a new start
The clouds had been heavy all day. And when they finally let go in the evening, it was as if the string of an old, worn out bracelet had snapped and the beads had collapsed onto the floor. At long last, the clouds stopped groaning from the discomfort of the weight they'd bottled in.
Several umbrellas flew open on the busy street like a bat's wings at the arrival of dusk. Dirt stuck to the ground like a recalcitrant child refusing to leave its mother's hand. The rainwater started swanning the single towards low-lying corners in alleyways that not even the ghosts of the dead frequented. The heat that was trapped in the ground began oozing out as the droplets seared over it like beads of sweat on a miner's forehead, cooling it, freshening it. Evoking the modern Narcissus to indulge in his beauty in the reflective concrete, the rain was reduced to a vice.
Skirts swept the muddied ground, trailing behind the hurrying ladies. Shoes clung to the sludge, refusing to budge. Arrogant cars sloshed dirty water in all directions, annoying the passersby to no end. Hair that had been punished with a heated iron, danced in all their curly, frizzy glory - it was an act of rebellion. Blurred spectacles rendered eyesight next to zero, and every object became a blob of some colour to the orbs they were trying to protect. Tongues peeked through lips that were open in wonder, to taste the water of the heavens, and rushed back in, for fear of being caught. We dragged the soaked doormats inside like waves of the ocean being rolled onto the shore. And the softly showered drops from that forgotten half-open window sparged the floor slick.
Somewhere, far away, pruned fingers strummed the strings of a guitar and the faded melody victoriously echoed through the splatter of the rain. Somewhere, two friends walked hand in hand, grinning from ear to ear and talking excitedly in their high-pitched teenage voices, creating a million memories in every second that drifted away like wisps of dandelion. Somewhere, a boy read a riveting thriller, the sound of rain completely obstructed by the stomping of his racing mind. Somewhere, the whiff of hot, freshly fried bhajiya sizzling in oil escaped into the air, making mouths water in sync with the clouds above. Somewhere, the buzz of the generator mixed with the beeps of email notifications and telephone rings and complaints about piles of work remaking and curses towards the rain for ruining a perfect workday. Somewhere, an old retiree retrieved intimate music records, turned them on, and drowned in a sea of nostalgia.
As the rainwater truckled down our windows, we wagered on the droplets as of they were racehorses, and we, the spectators, cheering them on and anticipating the triumphs of those innocent subjects of gravity. We reveled in the joy of the first rain, with no desire to let it go.
And when the rain stopped, everything fell quiet like the wick of a candle just after it has burnt to its last breath. And for a moment, just a solitary moment, all clocks stopped ticking, all boots stopped tapping, all heels stopped clicking, all frigs stopped croaking and all hearts stopped beating.
Everything came to a standstill and it was like a vintage photograph that carried the overwhelming aroma of beginning a fresh start.
The clouds had been heavy all day. And when they finally let go in the evening, it was as if the string of an old, worn out bracelet had snapped and the beads had collapsed onto the floor. At long last, the clouds stopped groaning from the discomfort of the weight they'd bottled in.
Several umbrellas flew open on the busy street like a bat's wings at the arrival of dusk. Dirt stuck to the ground like a recalcitrant child refusing to leave its mother's hand. The rainwater started swanning the single towards low-lying corners in alleyways that not even the ghosts of the dead frequented. The heat that was trapped in the ground began oozing out as the droplets seared over it like beads of sweat on a miner's forehead, cooling it, freshening it. Evoking the modern Narcissus to indulge in his beauty in the reflective concrete, the rain was reduced to a vice.
Skirts swept the muddied ground, trailing behind the hurrying ladies. Shoes clung to the sludge, refusing to budge. Arrogant cars sloshed dirty water in all directions, annoying the passersby to no end. Hair that had been punished with a heated iron, danced in all their curly, frizzy glory - it was an act of rebellion. Blurred spectacles rendered eyesight next to zero, and every object became a blob of some colour to the orbs they were trying to protect. Tongues peeked through lips that were open in wonder, to taste the water of the heavens, and rushed back in, for fear of being caught. We dragged the soaked doormats inside like waves of the ocean being rolled onto the shore. And the softly showered drops from that forgotten half-open window sparged the floor slick.
Somewhere, far away, pruned fingers strummed the strings of a guitar and the faded melody victoriously echoed through the splatter of the rain. Somewhere, two friends walked hand in hand, grinning from ear to ear and talking excitedly in their high-pitched teenage voices, creating a million memories in every second that drifted away like wisps of dandelion. Somewhere, a boy read a riveting thriller, the sound of rain completely obstructed by the stomping of his racing mind. Somewhere, the whiff of hot, freshly fried bhajiya sizzling in oil escaped into the air, making mouths water in sync with the clouds above. Somewhere, the buzz of the generator mixed with the beeps of email notifications and telephone rings and complaints about piles of work remaking and curses towards the rain for ruining a perfect workday. Somewhere, an old retiree retrieved intimate music records, turned them on, and drowned in a sea of nostalgia.
As the rainwater truckled down our windows, we wagered on the droplets as of they were racehorses, and we, the spectators, cheering them on and anticipating the triumphs of those innocent subjects of gravity. We reveled in the joy of the first rain, with no desire to let it go.
And when the rain stopped, everything fell quiet like the wick of a candle just after it has burnt to its last breath. And for a moment, just a solitary moment, all clocks stopped ticking, all boots stopped tapping, all heels stopped clicking, all frigs stopped croaking and all hearts stopped beating.
Everything came to a standstill and it was like a vintage photograph that carried the overwhelming aroma of beginning a fresh start.
