Kalbaisakhi

The earphones playing কেন মেঘ আসে হৃদয় আকাশে তোমারে দেখিতে দেয় না while I occupy the quiet window seat of an otherwise packed bus in the evening hours of a busy office day in the city of joy. As the bus approaches the city, outbound Vivekananda Hoogly Setu with a spectacular view of the Grand Hotel, Victoria Memorial, Eden Gardens, Samriddhi Bhavan, Princep and even Howrah Bridge from the top, it starts to rain. Sure enough, the weather predictions were right about the season's first Kalbaisakhi. There's something I look forward to about the first storm and first rain. Even when I am terribly scared of thunderstorms, I still wait for the wind to play across the city, gushing into homes and swaying the magnificent trees, rustling in a chaotic musical orchestra of nature, and finally, when it starts to rain, the wind makes patterns out of it. Soon, the smell of petrichor hits you with nostalgia. There's something about it that reminds you of good days and childhood.

Today, the rain dances to the lyrics of Tagore's song as the window soon blurs with droplets of rain. The wind is moist and cools your soul like no AC ever can.

I open the window just a little. The perfume soon hit my nostrils as I extended my hand out of the moving bus just enough to catch some droplets on my palm. The roads, concrete and leaves are all drenched in the first rain and it seems to wash away all the dirt and dust, cleaning the city like a cold shower in the summer evening. The street lights glitter on the roofs of the cars that zoom by, on the thousands of droplets raining on them. It looks like stardust on the street lights, making designs as they fall amidst the storm. The leaves rustle and occasionally fall on your head like showering petals, only harder. The wind tugs at your hair. The drenched streets look as good as new. The Hooghly ripples, rising up to catch the wind, too. The city of joy looks beautiful in Kalbaisakhi.

© Suranya