Romancing the monsoon

When I look outside my window...I see it raining in the sea. My face brightens, just when the sky darkens. The dark clouds gather far beyond the horizon and it slowly moves forward...like an African American model sashaying across the ramp. With her long legs deliberately and sensually , one, put in front of the other. Left and right. Left and right. Pitter- patter. Pitter- patter. A slight jig. Somewhere the music dances with her movement, not the other way....From afar her blue dress caresses the floor and then bounces off and swishes when she stops and takes a swift turn and glances at you in the centre. Her body turns away from you while her eyes still holds your stare. And she turns her head away almost reluctantly...and walks away, making way for the other raven beauty...
As much as I curse the rains when it finally arrives, there is nothing more romantic than the monsoons. Inconveniencing my daily routine, the lover (the rain) has arrived, nonchalantly, arrogantly, unapologetically at my door. You smile within. Can I imagine the clouds not gathering in the sky, as it hides the sun and my entire universe takes on a pale indigo hue? I smile and wink at the gloom for it does lighten my mundane existence. The habit of routine is broken, I need to change everything. I am forgiving for the break in my practice. I Wonder how my life would’ve been, if not for this visit, how mysterious, the plain and the simple looks now, as the atmosphere so pregnant with rain in its belly, waiting to wet me with its showers. When the rain reaches my vista...I run to my window stretch out my hands to capture the first shower....like satin it caresses my skin. I step outside, like a reluctant, shy, wanting bride...the cool breeze and I gasp. Then the spray. And then the torrent. The thunder and then the lightening...what a ruckus, chaos, madness....but such beautiful method to it all....teasing you, egging you forward and you feel so dangerously alive. Livid but nevertheless alive!
Next time I see my son dancing in the rain, I will tell him, “dance, dance all you want...for when you grow up, this becomes an indulgence and you become the mad one for wanting to court the downpour of God’s apparent blessing.

Memoir Of a ‘Wannabe’

I had the audacity to call myself a writer. The other day some people asked me an innocent question... “What do you do?” They asked. “I am a writer”, cringing within, because I couldn’t remember the last honest piece of anything even closely resembling ‘ literary,’ I had written. Hopefully they would stop with this line of questioning...I prayed. Smiling bravely I remained with the company, eager that their attention would now turn to the delicious meal we were having.
“What do you write?” they probed...
“Well! I write anything and everything.” That was vague enough. They would probably stop asking now. I thought. Intrigued they might move on and talk among themselves, “what an interesting person she is” they might say...I dreamed.
“Oh interesting!” They all said. By about now, their expressions were of serious awe...Encouraged... I continued.... “I write profiles for companies, people and services”... I should’ve stopped there, but pride got the better of me. There is nothing more seductive than attention of a crowd of people with every eye focused at you...”I write content for websites”....
“Oh!”
“You’re a copy writer...is it?”
“...aha!”
“You write brochures and pamphlets isn’t it?”
“Well! That too”...I said sheepishly. Feeling rather exposed. So much for referring to myself as a writer. I was losing ground. They were losing interest. Sniggering they started dispersing. Like a defiant drowning man gasping for air..... “I am a content writer”...but by then there was hardly anybody listening to me...
The appeal had clearly vanished. All their attention was now directed at the food, where it belonged right from the start. And I for one was forgotten and pushed to the oblivion.
But I didn’t really give up. To save the honour of every copy writer on planet Earth I bidded time...for some serious damage control.
“I should’ve just said I am a blogger...damn!”