Monsoon

Monsoon in my country is a harbinger of hope and joy. Mostly the country is perched in the dry months. The country lives in the villages. The rustics and farmers long for a pregnent moonsoon.
The memories of my country's moonsoon set at the background of villages arouses a very romantic feeling in me. The dark clouds hover across the sky. The gushing winds blows past.The peepul and bamboo trees sway along their sides . The birds lost course on their way . The nests hanging with some siblings crying for help.

This season is marked by young kids and village girls dancing in the rain. They just want to feel the first drops of rain. The children try fetching the ripe or unripe mangoes from the trees . There is such an innocent joy in these ventures.
The pond sweels up . The fishing pot gets up to the brim. The rain water is running in reels down the isles of the fields.
The thundering of the clouds evokes in all of us a sense of freedom and joyfulness.The peacock struts .
Evening palls in my village. The earthen lamp simmering with the dark fumes , the window pane reflecting the lightning across the night sky. The trees getting swayed like masculine demons casts its shadow over the glass panes. The sound of the speedy winds creates an eerie feeling in me.

Thats all I have as a moonsoon memory !!!!!