It’s drizzling. It’ll probably be over in a few minutes. Nevertheless, it’s an event that triggers me to say something.
As long as I was in Chennai, there was always the possibility of rain. The skies would open up at the most unexpected moments, transforming a dry dusty day into a delicious-smelling, if somewhat muggy,time for hot coffee, boiled peanuts and long conversations with strangers. Summers were rendered more bearable by this promise – that at any time, no matter how hot or dry it was, rain was just a god’s whim away. This is perhaps the one single thing I miss the most in Hyderabad. Outside the monsoon, it does not rain. Period.
Today’s drizzle, which is already nothing but a madman’s memory, is one of those tiny delightful things that make it all somehow worth it.
Max Ehrman’s Desiderata seems to put it very well:
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.