It is a normal day in July. Summer has left making place for Mansoon.
Bangalore is yet to experience showers in its best form. The clouds do grow darker late afternoon but somehow decide not to break loose; playing with our patience and disappointing the flowers who have already practised dancing in the cool breeze to welcome rains.
The eager eyes of the farmers expect some produce in the fields and money in the pocket only to pay interest on the loans. Low rains also disappoint the middle class people who think of ‘bhajiyas and chai’ with the new addition of concerns towards water scarcity and the need of rain water harvesting; thus seeking recluse from monotonous routines.
The denial of rains by the clouds is also a denial of inspiration to a writer for whom the pitter-patter serves as a background rhythm to create music with the words on paper.
What a rain can do to life can be seen in the smile of farmers, in the living rooms of middle class people and in the note book of a writer.