There are no skeletons in the cupboard. There are no secrets carried from the family. What I see instead are the necessities of everyday life—coffee, sugar, bread, and tea. Yet tucked away among these ordinary things are remnants of old emotions: the daily activities of a housewife toiling in the kitchen and scrubbing the floors and kitchen utensils.
The memories from a dysfunctional family remains- a few broken loves from the past and memories of a family that once burned with the intensity of an inferno, only to be replaced by another as the years passed. Much of life has been spent in words. Some became precious gems, treasured and preserved through time. Others dissolved into silence, while a few transformed into songs of remembrance that continue to echo through the mind.
There were moments of passion and upheaval, a purple riot of emotions that ran through the years, bled into experience, and eventually settled into a profound silence of its own making.The days themselves were often ordinary, filled with routine, mistakes, and small absurdities. Yet they were always balanced by the world of imagination.
In shades of midnight blue, fantasies breathed life into forgotten stories and resurrected memories long buried beneath the weight of passing years. They uncovered dreams that had once been abandoned and revealed how much of the past still lingered beneath the surface.
Looking back now, most secrets have faded away with time. However, there are words that one write once in a while of forgotten loves and memories, of losses, victories and the many wanderings of the hearts among paths that it liked . They remain along with its obsessive thoughts of a single enduring love- you.
After much awaiting, the monsoons arrive quenching the wrath of the scorching summer that has gone by and you celebrate its advent along with nature. You forget the harshness of the summer season and the days spent expecting news of the arrival of the rains.
You recollect the burning heat of the summer season, the cool summer drinks that offered you comfort, the visits to the beach that were part of the plan to soak yourself in the sea and the soothing baths that helped you sleep at night.
You sing the songs of the monsoon along with the rain and you love listening to the pitter patter of the raindrops on the roof. You rejoice by getting soaked to the bones in the first rain and enjoy it so much that your miserable summer is forgotten.
Your mornings are spent snuggling inside your warm blanket listening to the pitter-patter of rain falling rhythmically on the tin roof.
My heart has always yearned to explore the world with you by my side-to wander through uncharted lands, to discover hidden gems of beauty and to find beauty in the simplest of things. I have always dreamed of waking up next to you by my side and watch the streak of dawn across the sky.
One of my deepest desires is to visit my ancestral home near the River Green, to witness the majestic snakeboats gliding effortlessly across the water during the Onam festival. I long to feel the cool water envelop me, to laugh like a carefree child, and to relive the joy of my childhood.
I also hope to visit the old graveyard where my loved ones rest, to pay my respects to those who have passed on, and to remember the stories of their lives. Perhaps, in the silence of the graveyard, I will find a glimpse of the love and beauty that has been lost with time.
My dreams are not just about places and experiences, but also about the emotions and connections that make life worth living. I yearn to find love again, to rediscover the beauty that has faded with time, and to relearn the art of smiling like a child, with abandon and joy.
And, maybe, I'll find the courage to wear a spot of sindhoor on my forehead, like a newly wed woman, with pride and happiness in my heart. To feel the warmth of love and connection, to know that I am cherished and to radiate joy and contentment.
Beneath the banyan tree, a woman sat singing some ragas. She was singing in her melodious voice some songs that invited the monsoons. The land was dried up and the sky devoid of any trace of rain and the people draped in cottons gathered around with the sun scorching their brown skins.
The ragas reverberated in the blazing summers and were offered to the gods of the sky and the wind and the people remembered all the occasions when the land was blessed with rain in the scorching summer season. The children from the village played by the dried up temple pond, thinking of the days where they splashed in the cool water, sat idly in the cool recesses of the rocks, or sat chattering with the juice of ripe mangoes oozing on their hands and faces.
The singer went on singing and the people listened to the songs that praised the advent of the rains: oh you rain; much awaited the boon of heavens that brings joy to the earth, solace to the people, oh you rain, come with thunder and lightning and soak our brown skins with delight. Oh rain, the fulfilment of forecasts and incessant prayers, I invoke you in the names of the barren earth, the dried up rivers and lakes, the animals and birds, the silent trees and the people on earth.
The rains were invoked to end the blazing afternoons of summer heat with the first drops of summer rain and you set the warm smell of earth rising and you bedeck trees with jewels like brides, from furnace hot afternoons to nights of restless pace. It is for the rains, incense is burnt and prayers chanted and it is for you, the comforter on hot summer days. The land and the people waited for the comfort offered by the summer rains. However, the singer went on crooning the rain songs and soon and suddenly a wind blew over the land. The trees began to sway with the gust of wind and grey clouds rose to silhouette the sky with hints of a sudden outburst.
Then it started raining heavily. With the advent of the rain clouds, the entire city rejoiced as the wait was over. The days of drought are finally over and the soft rain pelted over the crowd with bolts of thunder and lightning. The people received in open hands stretched to skies what the heavens granted as comfort from the scorching heat of Indian summer. The rain fell over the land and the people danced in the rain with the beaming children screaming with delight when the droplets of rain drenched their brown bodies. The singer sat drenched still humming the megh malhar raga.
