Saturday, March 10, 2012

Theme 15 - Monsoon

From @April_Phool: Suddenly the layers of concrete on his hands turned dark,undulating blue blood froze in veins. As he lifted the last boulder, the precariously placed foot dislodged itself, everything felt awash, he plunged 13 stories racing ahead of blobs of monsoon water that fell on hot earth and washed it wet ... And red.

From @anushreekejriwa: Sitting by my window I see a young girl getting drenched in the rains under the influence of the katabatic winds. My mind slowly drifts and imagines the bright faces of the farmers; ready to infuse life in the fields. I then pray to not see the resentful faces and destructive aspect this year.

From @dimaagi_keeda: Albert was 55 years old and walking. He ran to take cover under the little shamiana on the ground nearby as it started to rain. He cursed the rain for this untimely love. And as the ball came rolling towards him, He unleashed a thunderous left footed strike. Goal. A sudden rush, A nostalgic smile.

From @sukhkarni: Monsoon was her favourite season. Romantic, drizzly, ecstatic. Drenched in each others' love, arms in arms, they went for a long walk in the rain. And, shudder!! An year has passed. She is now a mere face on the wall, while he sulks, his eyes wet with tears, recalling that accident in which he lost her!

From @caramelwings: The best part about Monsoons is that dull weather, a continuous shower, you sitting by the window and enjoying a hot Cuppa. Just one phone call, and you’re up on the terrace, standing in the darkness, drenched, and the raindrops mask your tears effortlessly. He did it again. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Smirk.

From @Gulabo_ : That one drop of water fell from the sky and settled on my skin. It spoke with me. It abated my fears and tasted better than my tears. I wanted to drown in it. I craved for more. The clouds turned dark and there it was pouring. And then that smile on my face…

From @SugarNSpice: It was a cloudy day today after the scorching heat yesterday. I leaned across the railing of my balcony to see the birds chirping and nostalgically remembered significance of monsoon and smiles. Just then a droplet of water fell from the sky. I smiled at glory of the rain god that touched to bless me.

From Proteem Bhaduri: The rain fell and it didn’t stop. For days, weeks and months. Like an incessant deluge of watery apocalypse. In time, the oceans rose to reclaim the land, as if the water from below wished to meet the shower from above half-way. And then nothing remained. Except for the rain. And the new fish people.

From @KarBhalla: He decided to take a 12 hour journey to meet her. "Its monsoon, raining dogs and cats, don't come here, if you can stay only 30 hours." Universe conspired with them, hardly any rain, they shared an evening that would be cherished for their next four months relationship. Love may subside but memories do remain.

From @IndianIdle: He loved rain. It was his season copyrighted. When all the birds sought shelter, he always came out and flew. Playing with the drops, toyed with the black clouds,like a king. This time he smelled monsoon early.He stretched his wings, but he realised that he had hands now. He was human,again.

From @MissCandyFlaws: That day, our hands clutched together, we tried hearing the silent whispers of the moon.Our happiness attached to each other, tears we spilled together, the jokes we cracked.That feeling, the love so perfect, so serene.
Now that it’s exactly an year you left, the nearest I can reach you smelling the monsoon rain.

From @JestChill: Sultry evening...hot Parched land, seeking relief Dull, dusty green of the trees She stood outside, looking tired. Waiting. It's darker...storm clouds gather..Is it thundering ? Flashes of light steal across the sky suddenly The heavens open, a waterfall breaks through She raises her face, welcoming the start of the rains..refreshing..cleansing..peaceful...

From @sahilk: There’s another year before I join college in Dubai and have my choice of girls, so chat-rooms are still a source of relief. I chanced upon an Indian once. One of my ex’s Indian and we had rather interesting conversations. So I figured this chat would be fun too. Except, India’s monsoons kept disconnecting her.

From @awsmbong: "She was worried, severely. Their mawkishness was the last straw. There just wasn't enough of it. A sudden breeze, monsoons have arrived. A loud sigh. Relief. With a hope of a bountiful harvest, they went to sleep, on an empty stomach. Perhaps she can buy her bangles too, next season. Festive dreams, they have."

From @RiddhiAswani: Her sobs are drowned out by thunder. Her shivers intensified by the wind. All she hears are the echos of past, hollow promises that are living, breathing entity of betrayal. Her tears, salty, scalding; run down her face. As they unite with the raindrops, they become pure, healing, obliterating. And the pain is no more.

From @Marwaari: "Why are you submitting affidavits instead of original documents?" The inspector asked going through my passport application. "You know all these can be made outside Bandra court for 500 Rs. What's their authenticity?" I barely managed to say "My identity was washed away in the 2006 deluge, I cannot prove who I am now"

From @ayechikne: He saw the sky turn from blue to grey and knew it was his moment of pride. It was his time to attract the opposite sex. The clouds roared and it was his cue to open up his blue-green feathers and dance to his heart’s content. The peacock danced in the first monsoon shower.

From @RadhikaMohandas: The chapped skin of her lips made her look like her mother. From the window, she saw Mother come with a pail of water in her hand and an earthen pot on her head. As the daughter watched, the pail dropped, the pot fell, broke apart, and the desert wagered another life for a raindrop.

From @hersheyka: That night she was strolling back home, loving the weather. It was slightly drizzling; she hadn't opened her umbrella. She enjoyed Mumbai monsoons. At a deserted turn, a filthy naked boy of ten snatched her umbrella and ran; a fleeting look of apology and pain. Rains were not the same for her anymore.

From @thebongbabe: It was time to reveal his true colours. He had been sober way too long. He had skills he wanted to show off. Woo the ladies with. He knew none of them could resist his style. This rain dance was the perfect time to strut his stuff. Decision made, the peacock stepped out, feathers unfurled.

From @AbhiandNow: “Rakesh tirpal laga chhat pe, paani tapak raha hai andar,” Aditya shouted while walking in the knee-deep water. The incessant showers had knocked off all the arrangements, and the beautiful decoration became more of a nuisance. “What are we doing here?” Steve questioned. Aditya winked and said, “Enjoying the monsoon wedding, as you’ve asked for.”

From @designerfoo: He felt the drops of eternity roll down his face. "The very young do not always do as they are told...", said the Preacher. He always knew when a storm was approaching. "A storm nears." "Then, I shall embrace it, like an old flame embracing its long lost yoke!" said the Pupil. The Monsoon beckoned.

From @sshweta93: It was July. Shashank had just landed at the Mumbai airport. As he walked onto the streets, he recollected his friend's words back in Dubai. ''Mud puddles and stinky drains. That's all you're going to find there!'', she said. It rained. He felt something. Not disgust. Not revulsion. It was euphoria. Shashank was finally home.

From @Aarom_Ramsey: The ground below him had turned mucky and water from the rain had pooled in around him. Finally, his telescope caught what he’d been waiting for all night. He couldn’t miss. He shouldn’t miss. He pulled the trigger and all he heard was a muffled sound as the bullet whizzed through the air.

From @bitchwanti: Her golden contours shone like beaten gold as she twisted and turned in the shower, painted yellow with the sun shining through the open window. The water sprayed into his beady red eyes. 'Oh this is the real monsoon' coo'ed the pigeon as she shoo'ed him off the ledge

From @Sinful_Reveries: They seep through her hair, glide down her cheeks. She can smell the aroma everywhere; monsoon was here. She was reminded of him, his smell, his fingers that touched her lips. Only if she could see him, if she knew how beautiful the rain was. Only if everything for her wasn't just a blank screen.

From @eternalscrewup: She looked around. Massive quantity of soot omnipresent in the air dried up her throat. The earth was barren, she felt like a boat that had sunk into a world of tar and lava. She searched for the forbidden cloud of rain, for she was the Eve of the post apocalyptic era.

From @dinkypinkybrain: In tales so old, spun like folklore, we had heard of rumbling dark grey nights. Of the sky bring torn by piercing light. Howling wind that came bearing bleeding clouds to quench the thirst of this earth, scabbed and dry. We knew it was myth, knew not to believe. But with silent hope, we waited.

From @TheBigDowg: There are no heroes. There are no villains. There is no love story. There is nothing. The Britishers have gone, just like the villagers. Cricket was famous once, but now there is nothing but silence. Everything has changed except one thing, the soil still longs for the rain. Ladies & Gentlemen, welcome to Champaner.

From @iamafairytale: A pale looking woman, was expecting her husband. Sitting by the doorstep, she was visibly drenched with those small raindrops and yet glowed. Suddenly, she noticed her husband with wrapped packet and almost wet. Her face seemed delighted. She cried in happiness and waved. It was the first rains and pakoda of the season. Monsoon Love.

From @sarcogenic: 2008. Lonavala. Torrential Rains. Overflowing dam. They sat on the edge. Laughing. Deliriously happy. Having found this time alone. Rimjhim Gire Saawan.. she sang. And then she slipped. Into the dam. He screamed. He cried. He fled. Today shadows often dance on the dam. On quiet nights. And the breeze hums, Rimjhim Gire Saawan..

From @akshayabansal: A grey cloud hangs overhead as he stares at his easel, wondering what to paint next. A thunderous roar reverberates around the city. Peering through the window he notices the street urchins playing with much glee. The monsoon's here, he puts away his brush and runs out to feel like a child again.

From @Pomegranatee: He liked rain. It made him feel pure. The cruel hands that killed had once gently caressed her entire body. It washed away the blood. The pain that she got him. He felt relieved. He felt alive. Ready for another kill. The story of a butcher who worked across the street.

From @lady_shweta: Tabestan made love for the first time in 7 years. The rain outside greeted the glass windows and washed away the dust of summer. He was soaked in her love, their body scents mingled with the wet scent of the mud. At the time of the dawn, he asked her name again, Megha she replied.

From @SomyaSingh24: The night when the court's decision arrived was tempestuous. It rained cats and dogs. "Court passes Mrs. Mehta's petition." The country was tearful with exultance. Next morning, she kissed her son good-bye and turned off the ventilator that had been prolonging his life for the past five years. Heavens shed contended tears that morning.

From @Gaaliman: Last monsoon, it was us; you were the silver lining to my dark clouds, the winds gushing; your drenched hair on my shoulder, your perfume in my breath, your smile, when the rain drops kissed your skin. The clouds departed, the winter arrived, and you left me there, unattached, parched and vulnerable with my sentiments.

From @ChoteyDilWallah: The rain had drenched her by the time she'd reached his apartment. He was not home, being still stuck in the traffic. She got out the spare key he'd given her. Drying herself, she looked for clothes in the closet. His were a few sizes too large for her. She settled for his wife's instead.

From @Gods_Evangelos : “Hold me tight” she said. The time was around 5:45 pm and the place was silent. We both were wet and in to each other’s arms. It seemed time was stuck, so were the eyes. Her dress was blue, transparent and mesmerizing. Memory freshens when the dew drops arise with the dainty aroma of sand.

From @karishmarawat: The sky was sedately stormy, ready to burst any moment. How happy you seemed with him. I stare at your only photograph that I have, one last miserable time, before rolling it and lighting it up. As I puff out smoke, I wish for a thunderstorm, some warm rain, and I think I’ll be fine.

From @freelosopher: He'd broken out of his cell. Visitors left an hour back. The coast was clear. The heavy downpour would aid his escape as visibility was low. He was a mere shadow of his former self anyway. Swishing through the coffin and six feet of mud, his spirit rose up and glided away in the rain; free forevermore.

From @Hob_Nob_ : Its pouring yet breezy, glasses are filled with wine, both are cozy. They are on bed, that's when she hears footsteps. Hubby is home early, she was caught and all were deadlocked in the moment. Hubby takes a glimpse outside the window, couldn't resist the monsoon evening and asks, "Would you like to threesome?"

From @shivangiyadav: She epitomized Miss Bubbly. It was ironic because her heart never smiled. However, the world saw, what you showed it. She was tired of the play acting, of breaking every day, one piece at a time and still smiling. The dam that she had built finally breached that night. The tears, uncontrollable, soothed her parched scars.

From @Shwetasque: They had been together for sometime now. Like all couples they wanted little ones too. But they had limited means. It had to be planned. They didn't want their little ones to experience hunger. So the passion had to be curbed. Monsoons would guarantee enough food for all. The sparrow pair waited to breed..

From @MissBlurrii: She looked gorgeous. Her *only* fear: that the rains might just ruin their single most important day. She was waiting and there came a man, with flowers and a letter in his hand...The note read, "I love you, but I can't..." That perfect monsoon wedding day; not a cloud of grey!

From @whimsytales: Dripping from her scarf were all the colours she loved. But she didn't mind. She was too busy discovering herself. The poet in her, the lover, the painter, the music in her. It stimulated the beauty that was inside her, which she otherwise never thought she had. Monsoon made her feel beautiful, when he couldn't.

From Sneha Madinur: He was mute all through their conversation. His words lost in the gale of the emotions. All he wanted to say thundered inside him. Her words hit him like lightening. She bolted out without waiting. All his emotions and words poured out from his eyes, a torrential flow of insatiable flood, drowning all that he believed.

From @theslumdawg: 'Barsaat,Kichad,Tapakti Chat,Geela Bistar' usi mein raat bhar jaag kar,Chehre par tapkte paani se Aansuon ko dhundana. Barsaat se jaise barson puraana rishta hai. Bhaagne ki koshish ki, woh ruki nahi. Lekin,Mein thak gaya. "Now,You can find me wetter than a fish, throughout the monsoons." Compromising with Monsoon is happiness.

From @Itemboi : He was at his worst. The spring had gone from his life. His heart resembled a barren summer land. Dry and listless. She came and things changed. Hopes drizzled. She poured affection and care. His heart turned green with joy. The dark clouds blocked all the sadness. He was drenched... In the monsoon of love.

From @EvilMegaMind: phone rings..Eric (half asleep): hmm..??Rose (terrorized): I can’t sleep. Eric: uhh.. what happened? Its almost 3 am..Rose: This lightening.. I am scared. Eric (annoyingly): aahh.. now I can’t do anything about it.. please sleep.
Rose (disconcerted): hmm.. I’ll just duck in my blanket. Bye. phone disconnected..
This continued.. Every year.. During monsoon..

From @hollowmaniac: The storms were coming. It was time. She looked up, and closed her eyes. One second it was hot like being by the side of a furnace, the next second ice-cold water kissed her face, cleansing her beautiful bosum. He walked towards her, smiling. Goosebumps, the wetness. They made sweet love by the open balcony.

From @menakasays: She tried not to stare. Drenched in the rain, his perfectly chiselled body set her blood singing through her veins. She couldn't believe what was happening. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to shake off some of the water. "I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked timidly. "9.00 am sharp. For the presentation." "Yes, sir."

From @laalfirangi: This is where it all started. This is where it all ended too. In the rain. Today, it’s raining again. This rain stands for those words you said, the promises broken, the memories preserved, the many lies and the few truths. This time, I’m standing where you left me. I’m getting drenched. Drenched in love.

From @themodestninja: He slipped and died. What a way. Stupid rains! Where was he now? It was dark, yet there was light... Huh. All he heard was dripping water. Tip. Tip. Tip. It seemed distant. "Hello?" he shouted. A voice called out his name. He looked around frantically but saw nothing... "Wake up, it's late," it added.

From @Oven_Tikka : She looked beautiful, that damp hair forming a mass of dishevelled curls on her head, those full lips turned upwards in a rueful smile as she failed to stay dry, her white kurta getting steadily transparent…with a startle he woke up. It was still dark outside. He looked down. His first wet dream. How appropriate.

From @DushtuMey: Season’s first rain had arrived. Groggy and somewhat grumpy at the sound of happy raindrops dancing outside, he heaved himself off the tiled floor. He hated the drenched parks and despised the smell of wet earth. But he must go out. “Buddy, let’s go”, he heard her call out. Wagging his tail, he followed obediently.

From @parekhit: He looked at the sky, coughing out loud; a victim of lung cancer. She fed her three month old baby from her tender breast. Her face wore a prayer, a plea to god that let the monsoon begin. Monsoon meant the sun flowers would bloom, which could be sold to treat her husband.

From @CaptnJellyBelly: As the rain drops brushed her soft pink lips, she stared at him in amazement. After an entire week of fighting they met on the terrace and there he was drenched in the first rains, down on one knee. The most beautiful and amazing question he’d ever asked, “My precious, Will you marry me?”

From @ChhotaRecharge: Today, July 25. His birthday and the proudest moment of his life - debutant opening batsman for the Indian Cricket Team. He stepped on the field and sweated it out to 157-4. On strike, 98*, nervous excitement...distraction. They lost an easy game to Duckworth Lewis. He will never celebrate his birthday ever again.

From @violinraindrops: It was time for 5-year old Amaya’s school. She’d play games then conclude the day by running her fingers through pages of her notebook. At 10pm Amaya woke up to the sound of her friend. Barely able to walk, she reached the door smiling. Palms open, she welcomed her friend “You sound beautiful when you fall.”

From @OhTeri_ : Siya loved Monsoons. The smell of rains. The feel of it. She loved him too. They met after months. She was Sixteen. Empty road. She was scared; not sure if he was the RIGHT one. And it rained. They hugged. But he wanted something else too. She denied. He left her crying. ALONE. HURT. Forever.

From @khatteemithi: The Padma swelled at its might. He promised his wife to be back at dawn break with the catch. Hilsa. Should sell like gold. He planned to buy his future for his son .The Monsoon swept in at full force . The son at dawbreak stared at the red sky waiting for his future. It's been 20yrs.

From @gauravjagwani: The SMS language is not for everyone. She missed him. She sent him a text one evening which read ‘When are you coming back?’ His immediate reply, ‘Mon. Soon.’ She couldn’t wait all summer long. She slept with another. Another partner was seen the next day. She moved on. Her husband returned the following Monday.

From @sweetchillly: A Trail of Thoughts Trickled down her Memory Lane.Filled up with nostalgia of a bygone Monsoon hitting her brain.She felt just like Goose bumps,at the Touch of the First Drops of Rain.A Reminder of First Strings of Love&O those bolts of pain.She sat near the window Pane thinking how,all her Efforts had gone in Vain.

1 comment:

  1. awesome initiative, will try and write next time :)

    ReplyDelete