Monsoon has officially arrived in Delhi. Monsoon is the season of love. Here is something that I had started writing, but did not complete. Perhaps, someday I will. Until then, here's to Monsoon and to love.
Monsoon is the season of lovers. Amir Khusrau said to hell with a monsoon, which is spent away from the Beloved. Faiz Anwar, in one of Bollywood’s most beautiful songs - Aaoge Jab Tum, described that rain pours and dances when two lovers meet. When the raindrops touch the naked body, something deeper is awakened. It’s like sun rays falling on the face in winter. Or like walking through a street lined with laburnum in summer. Or like the slight chill in autumn’s wind. Or like a pink sky in Delhi. A blessing from above, a shower of God’s love.
S was driving to work. It had been pouring all night and there was bound to be traffic. But he was unfazed. The impending flooded roads didn’t concern him. The long commute would give him time to speak to V, who he had met a few weeks ago. They had been talking on and off. V was flirtatious and the sudden attention warmed S’s heart. Even though it had been just a few weeks, S yearned to speak to V. S had already reached the point, where he made a list of things to discuss with (or rather ask) V. Don’t judge S – we’ve all been there; an infatuation that feels like true love, a hobby that feels like a career and a coincidence that feels like destiny.
S was now at a traffic signal. The rain intensified and the raindrops were falling hard on the metal roof of the car. The sound created by the hard-hitting drops was not at all pleasant. S decided to play some music. He looked outside. Two people were standing close to each other under one umbrella. They were both looking down to a single phone between them. S did not know them. But love was in the air (or more in his mind) and he imagined that they were lovers. S smiled seeing what he believed to be a romantic scene – one that was right out of Shree 420. He wondered if he would share such a moment with V...
