Monsoon in the Mountains

The tiny droplets of sweet rain pouring down from the skies gently kissed our bodies. Snapping out of the spell of intense beauty, I looked up at the endless sky. Somehow, it appeared so much closer than ever before. Everything was so simple, and so very calm. It was drastically in contrast to the kind of mornings I make memories out of back home in the city.

We were perched on the highest few rocks at the periphery of the fort. As the fluffy blanket of clouds floated across in haphazard directions, the valley unfolded till as far as our vision could stretch itself. I stole a gush of cool air and let it swell my lungs up. It was invigorating. And pretty much all of a sudden, the thought of every inch of the effort it took me to pull myself up what seemed to be this never ending mountain began to ease out. This view was nothing short of a miracle. It was what I could only try to describe as perhaps a reflection of the heavens above. In all its tranquility and wonderfulness, it almost took my breath away.

Right this minute, as I’m lying in bed, penning this article down to trap in exact details of how amazing the landscape painted before us was, I can’t help but realize how much I miss being out there, in the open, under an expanse of wide skies. It was so quiet up there. Even the tiny streams caressing our feet sounded so loud. I can still distinctly hear the splashes of the cool water waves rushing down from some source above, embracing occasional pebbles and causing them to come right down, tumbling in mild protest. These ugly pink walls of my matchbox of a hostel room make me miss the pallet of colors from that morn so bad.

There were clouds beneath us, as much as they were above. With such patches of white intermittently obscuring our view, we had to wait calmly to even consider counting the very many tiny waterfalls on the opposite and adjacent mountains. The monsoons had brought in with it a very evident partial liking to all sorts of tones of green. There was a stroke of intense bright green of the long grass dancing in the wind, and there was a green with the most accurate tinge of yellow down in the valley, and then the darker green of leaves wrapped around petite flowers, and the dirty green bathed in wet mud, and the far off blackish-green almost touching the horizon. The light blue of the sky above sheltered humble shades of gray that gracefully began to advance our way. The sun was out there somewhere too, but the only clue of it burning was the blur dull golden rays that forced their way out of the parade of clouds that were too occupied trying not to sink under the weight of the rains waiting to explode.

We must’ve sat there for quite a bit, staring into the nothingness of Mother Nature, while even time seemed to get a little more patient in appreciation of pure virgin beauty. Every second was so full of verve. Now I’m guessing I should have packed some of it up, the zeal would’ve probably lasted me months. Sitting there, on that giant black rock, I felt so alive. I could hear myself breathe without even bothering to concentrate. It was so awesome. It was downright cool.

Slowly, I could feel the goose-bumps set in, as my body began to revolt to the chilliness in the air. As we treaded ahead, we left the rains behind.

This one's in memory of Rajmachi, 

right in the middle of the monsoons.