The Beauty Of Grey Skies

In & Out


Petrichor — a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.


           A lone fly was buzzing in my ear, but I’d gotten too used to it to pay any real attention. The earth was scorched and cracked, having endured the long summer. I tugged at my collar, trying to get into a more comfortable position in the easy-chair, but the humidity was oppressive.

I lit a cigarette and leaned against the porch rail, lightly praying for a cool breeze that would brush against my face. But all was still. Unmoving, as if an artist had captured the entire landscape in masterful strokes. I could hear the slow crackling sound of the paper burning as I pulled on the cigarette. Slowly, a gentle wind picked up. The book which lay open on the coffee table beside the easy chair turned over a few pages, the ashes I flicked fell on the balustrade. I looked up, the sky had gone grey.


Grey skies


The first drop fell on my still lit cigarette, effectively ruining it for me, and the others brightened the faded reddish hue of the balustrade. They began to gain pace as I rushed down the flight of stairs. By the time I exited the doorway it was a torrential downpour. I turned to face the sky and we met like a long lost lovers, hungry and passionate. It kissed my lips and vehemently touched my skin, unbridled passion that could be only nurtured by time, distance and separation. After almost an year: the monsoon rain and I were finally together that afternoon. In the excitement I climbed atop the wall that the next house shared with us. And I was greeted by an old lady twirling around in the rain like a little girl. Her carefree laughter gushed like a mountain stream over smoothened pebbles, dousing my frenzy and making me recall a girl who loved to dance in the rain too. She had been long forgotten, but I only and always remembered her when it rained.  Perched atop the wall, I must have been lost for quite a while, because the next time I looked around, the rain had stopped and the lady was nowhere to be seen. I wiped my spectacles to a little avail and smiled to myself. Monsoon was here.