884
Chitvan Singh Dhillon
WITH my eyes half open after an extended afternoon nap, I look above to see the slow, monotonous winding of the ceiling fan, the tedious humming of the air-conditioner, and stretch slothfully as a crackle of thunder jolts me out of bed.
I hear my parents croon to Shammi Kapoor’s hit number, ‘Tumne mujhe dekha…’ I push the curtains aside and the pleasures of pre-monsoon showers beckon. My guava tree is dancing in ecstasy, the young lemon tree looks happy and the gulmohar is content.
I can smell the dusty clamminess outside fade away, giving rise to the delicate smell of gentle earth as the rain catches vigour. I open my bedroom window to be greeted by a warm monsoon raindrop spray on my face, a breeze that brings the room alive and an aroma rising from the kitchen of crispy pakoras and sweet cardamom chai.