Besides the pouring rain against the glass panes, the next best thing for me is a dry spell, with a shaft of sunlight escaping through the dark bank of clouds and illuminating a runway on my bed. These instances are rare to come by in the thick of the monsoons and so I relish them, as I am doing now with one or all of the below:
A good book: The lighter the better. Or else something as engrossing as a Harry Potter or an Alistair McLean. The intense plot only ferments too well in the rain-washed sunbeams.
A good book and a takeway: A steaming box of wok or some incredibly cheesy pizza that dribbles on the pages. Nasty stuff, but there's no combination like comfort food and a comfort book.
Long-drawn out, ballad-like music: My husband is a connoisseur of good music, and more often than not I am listening to some heart-rending song on the loop. On afternoons like today, it feels like an ode to love and loss and all things bittersweet.
Watching out with a mug of tea: An epitome of relaxation, nothing beats acting beyond the age and getting all pensive (of course, with happy, wishful thinkings) on an armchair, facing the open skies, watching the birds creating shapes in the sky, little dark spots against the grey clouds. Since its still a bit windy, fingers wrapped around a mug of hot tea is heaven itself.
Doing the above, wrapped in a shawl: Oh, the joy of the cold. It chills the bones and steals the steam from the tea mug, but it lends the irrepressible charm of the flannel and my grandam's knitted shawl. Wrapped up like a burrito, I wish life would go on like this forever.
Driving down a long, twisted, tree-lined road: Let the windows down - they should technically be down all the way really, when you are out of the city - and let the weak sunlight warm the inside of the car. The trees on the side of the road are creating a patchwork of sun and shade and droplets shine on the tips of their leaves. Ah, how I'm craving for a stretch right now...
...like all good things, sunbeams in the Indian monsoons must come to an end too. And with it shall I pack away shawl and the tea mug, waiting for the lashing rains again...
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