monsoon is when

the blue sky fades into a shade of grey and clouds foregather and let down a fierce shower, quenching the thirst of starving farmers and summer dried trees; the local tea stall crowded with tired people seeking fleeting comfort, sipping chai with too much milk and elaichi specially for the damp weather; children soaking and drenching themselves in these monsoon showers, splashing in puddles and getting scolded by their grandmother for doing so though she tries to hide the nostalgia she feels as she watches a reflection of her own childhood in blood and skin; road trips to the mountain which has a blanket of bright green, almost as if one must've spilled watercolours over it, waterfalls pouring from the curves, the smell of fresh earth everywhere and saplings awaiting to sprout; some sitting by the window listening to the clouds sob, ink soaking on the notebook filled with musings, thoughts threaded into words, inspired by none other than this beautiful weather itself.

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