Monsoon in a city filled with millions of people can be a writer’s delight. It rains every hour, of every day, and people go about, unhindered, armed with umbrellas they hope will help weather the storm. As soon as the sky sprinkles, you’ll see the uniform shaking of hands as they let loose the umbrella from its bound form. The world transforms — not in the way the poet speaks of the transformation in nature, but by the populous that inhabit it.

Doesn’t that sound like a metaphor for what humans do when the clouds burst in their own brain?

So many stories exist on a single street. Couples walk under a single umbrella, using the rain as an excuse to get closer. There are old folks with white hair and wizened faces who walk under their own umbrella wanting that space. Rich ladies, with a scowl on their faces and an umbrella so large it could fit three or four people under it; walk alone, under that wide canopy, eyeing the rest of the world in disdain. Students are the best: They huddle underneath an umbrella meant for one as if they were camping out at their friend’s place. And in a way, isn’t that how it is?

Storyteller || Tech Enthusiast || Writing Coach || Letter Writer

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store