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| BlogAdda's Tangy Tuesday Pick |
We writers always take the weather so personally. We take cues from it. As if the weather is trying to talk. To us alone. Trying to convey something not heard by others who are incapable of reading its mystic language. Like the naughty eyes of a secret lover amidst a thick crowd that is totally unaware of the electric chemistry between them.
The sudden change from a supposedly hot March day
to a cold July day. Like a woman with wild mood swings. Anger gathering up one moment and smile spreading her face another moment. Air washed in the smell of
rain and hope and happiness too, caressing your skin like the lips of a first
time lover – slow, cold, sensual – sending ripples through the body, engulfing
you like the arms of an old sweetheart, making your tresses go wild and unruly,
like the real you, atmosphere pregnant with the ecstatic thoughts of your first
kiss.
Spring blooming like your favourite perfume. You
don’t want the perfectly cool breeze to stop like the time when you pushed your
lover's hand from going at untoward places secretly hoping he wouldn’t let go
seeing your mock anger.
The heat of a May afternoon. Cruel. Sun in its
full glory. As if it is his right to make people suffer. Mocking from far away.
It's acidic laughter ringing in ears. Like that cruel magician in that circus
who you thought cut the poor man in two halves. Sun burning holes in your skin
like the time when that magician ran the thick axe into his body. Your dilemma as a four year
old as to why was it amusing to others around you. Couldn’t they feel the pain
of that half-cut man?
The last week of June. With clouds scattered all
over you, forming intricate patterns amongst themselves. Open to interpretation
like a woman's advances. Trying to cover the sun. Like that old charm that your
grandmother tied around your arm to shield you against the evil eye.
The drizzle of a July morning. Reminding you of
the butterflies in your stomach
on seeing your lover's name on your phone. The
sound of drizzle like that of sweet nothings in your ears. Hide and seek of the
sun with the clouds, like the one you played with your siblings in the farms
when winning a game of hide and seek was the ultimate victory, enough to keep
you smiling for days together.
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| Image Courtesy : Google |
And then the downpour. Making everything around
you opaque for a while. As if trying to convey about the loneliness of life,
about the fact that this journey is yours and yours alone. That you would have
companions but the journey would be yours. Stillness and fury unleashed at the
same time. Of life and its cruelties.
Trees shedding their leaves in autumn. Like a
woman suddenly aware of her sensuality, shedding her inhibitions one by one.
Sun on a cold November morning making you
feel warm from inside. Like the first sip of vodka. Like everything is
alright in life. Or atleast will be. Very soon. The feeling of contentment. Serenity settling in your bloodstream. Like
the time when you saw that everybody you love was happy. Wanting the status quo
to remain forever. Like the rainbows you see when you close your eyes with sun
peering in on them. Colours of happiness and warmth all around.
And what about the foggy December days. Cold and lonely.
The way you felt heavy with melancholy of the first breakup that was long ago. Like
a broken bone, which though healed still pains. Sometimes.
So many emotions, so many thoughts, ups
and downs equivalent to a roller coaster ride. Ah, we writers ! We take this weather so so personally. While for
others it's just change of seasons. How I wish they knew, how much they are
missing what the weather is trying to say. Sigh!
