It was cloudy since morning.
The sky turned brown only to change further into ashy grey. The green spread is dark and the rest of the concrete jungle is not visible through the rainy haze. The walls of the Maharishi College & Hostel are drenched; and the muddy red and yellow fortress type structure gives a haunted aura. The field next to it was ploughed yesterday. It is filled with rainwater. In just a matter of minutes it turned from a puddle to pond.
The muster of peacocks ruling the sprawling greens of Maharishi Ashram announce the arrival of rain. Much to my amusement there are three birds roaming on the fields. Two of them are peacocks ready to welcome the rain with their dance and one is a peahen.
What catches attention is that two peacocks are dancing to woo the peahen who looks away, utterly bored. Women … you see.
Being fair to the masculine gender, the colourful spread of their wings looks picturesque against the bright green enclosure surrounded by dark green foliage. The worn out yellow hostel building with its huge castle like structure peeps through the green bushy trees. Its rain kissed, moss stained yellow walls surrounded by various shades of green seem like a lazy metaphor in the fast paced city. The water drizzles along with a gentle breeze. It is raining. Standing in the balcony I can feel the droplets on my face. The feeling is enchanting.
It is a dark morning. Water drips off the railing of my balcony. A drenched pigeon takes shelter over the AC unit. It doesn’t seem to be a fully grown bird. I am tempted to take a full view but avoid disturbing the poor soul. Lightning flashes like an inverted Trishul followed by a resonating thunder. It is a downpour and the college is no longer visible. Water spreads over the glass window. Droplets wiggle through the patches of dust, creating the feel of a mountain spring. The mauve curtain loosely hangs against the glass door with no attempt to cover my view. The bedroom is dark. I decide not to switch on the light. It is rain which helps me write the best. I stand by the glass door wondering at the wet haze. The nimbus has arrived on earth.