January was July and July was January. The clouds came knocking as if taunting the earth. I had just returned back home from the warm salient weather of Bangalore. In January the바카라 웹사이트breeze had an identity of its own.바카라 웹사이트
When the contractions started, the sky was blue and when it ended, I was out and it rained then, the first time that year. The sky was still blue though. Azure maybe.
January was July and July was January. The clouds came knocking as if taunting the earth. I had just returned back home from the warm salient weather of Bangalore. In January the바카라 웹사이트breeze had an identity of its own.바카라 웹사이트
I was born on the 30th of July. A monsoon baby. A people pleaser. A geometry of spurs.
When the contractions started, the sky was blue and when it ended, I was out and it rained then, the first time that year. The sky was still blue though. Azure maybe. An insufficiently revolutionary rain considering this rain came as if unannounced, without any need to be바카라 웹사이트forewarned and all gutsy. With a plan. The untimely messiness of the rain was emergent in the바카라 웹사이트aftermath of the half-baked puddled road. Pasty mortar ruins. This irregular downpour exuded a바카라 웹사이트faint fragrance that was impertinent for petrichor to rule the air. The vengeance of nature embodied바카라 웹사이트in the winter waterproof jackets which I had gotten from Manali last winter as it had lost the바카라 웹사이트
concision of the disambiguated and in this disquiet, it suddenly dawned upon me that I had given바카라 웹사이트them away just last month to my niece for her school play. Suddenly, the rain was pattering on바카라 웹사이트everything- the presence of prescience raindrops in winters accumulated to a coldness which cut바카라 웹사이트through thin ice and set itself in the bones of bones. I had never felt so forlorn on a January in바카라 웹사이트India. Walking down the stairs, I already missed my bed. The Indian Jaadugarni (witch) with the바카라 웹사이트distinct gap tooth, Eoh, like the eye of Horus, who lived next door had prophesized a seasonal바카라 웹사이트upheaval a few moons back. Suddenly, the rain was debasing an astrological amount of humidity바카라 웹사이트in my festive washing of head full of hair minus a dryer. I was in precise discomfort (30per cent), hungry (30 per cent), cold (20 per cent) and wet (20 per cent) with a full moon prophecy of myself to care - I resigned to not바카라 웹사이트relax. Until the mists part, I was ready to suffer. I waited for the sun. I yearned with closed eyes바카라 웹사이트for the window to light up with a familiar burst of energy, waiting for the phosphenes to dramatize바카라 웹사이트
a dance of rays on the grey damp walls. The lack of mechanical, electrical, or magnetic stimulation바카라 웹사이트on a waxing gibbous (85%) the previous night was a warning for the uneventful next day. It was바카라 웹사이트a cruel way for the season gods aka Iravat to betray me when my wait turned plausible enough for바카라 웹사이트me to accept my reality. My hair formed knots, knotty wetness. The wool on me stuck onto me.바카라 웹사이트The winter skincare routine turned patchy, oily, and defunct.바카라 웹사이트
I outed Balaji chips- salted and masala from the crevices of a cupboard at noon. It must바카라 웹사이트have been the fifth big browned chip in my cotton dry mouth when I stopped listening to Kishore바카라 웹사이트Kumar on loop. At the tenth saltiest chip in -- I was counting calories and it was lightning outside.바카라 웹사이트A few measly minutes later, the partially eaten chips were soggy. The oil dripping humidity바카라 웹사이트sickened me enough to regret the salty bile disputing in the corners of my mouth as I emptied my바카라 웹사이트stomach. Suddenly, the toilet bowl was in my face like a melancholic day. Suddenly food바카라 웹사이트poisonings were not endemic to monsoons. Suddenly, the weather did not forgive me on a day바카라 웹사이트when I did not fly kites and did not kill birds in the sky. I did not. A cold wind stayed with me like a hanging man waiting to go home at the end of the day, after a tiresome try at weakening my바카라 웹사이트spirits in a sunless cold which had gripped my city. Like a pulled kite stuck on the other side.
Skittles in my pockets so old / Like a concrete stone I hold / I can give you wisdom / But I바카라 웹사이트
shook hands with nihilism and now I need to wash them / Hiding in my music block unseen I listened to Oscar Scheller unhinged. When it was thunder time, I was watching two mango trees바카라 웹사이트in my backyard- like they could not believe their luck- they could not bear mangoes this season바카라 웹사이트because the rain gods had displeased, excused and landed earlier than the seasons of red & mauve,바카라 웹사이트single & double. Balsams cared less. Cockscomb wilted with the rain, tearing up at times. By바카라 웹사이트evening, I had stopped looking at my plants.바카라 웹사이트
A child wept outside. Mucky, uncomfortable. Like the cotton fields, dying with the rain.바카라 웹사이트It라이브 바카라 a certain kind of curse to end with the rains if you are a plant or a crop. A howl later, I debunked바카라 웹사이트from my bed- straight to the balcony, clinching my hoodie, folding my hands, praying for the바카라 웹사이트wailing to stop. I reasoned with the cold, thinking of the metaphoric corn on the cob of July, nimbu바카라 웹사이트in salt and laal mirch, rubbed gently, mildly and the burnt lemon numbing my nostrils, the Naga바카라 웹사이트chilli watering my eyes which planted tears at the sight of the unruly rain, pattering away. The바카라 웹사이트pattering turned into a drizzle by and by. It was a late night when the toads came out and the crickets바카라 웹사이트made merry. A wet poster of Spiderman kissing Mary Jane in the iconic upside-down lay muddled바카라 웹사이트and confused on the floor of the balcony, a lone star in the black sky for company. The petrichor바카라 웹사이트suddenly intermingled with the half-lit cigarette in my hand, my saliva plummeting through the바카라 웹사이트
nicotine which turned me on in a reckless way, a sick way. I missed the winter moon then. A바카라 웹사이트crusade of summer was lost in this rain. The guts. Curt.바카라 웹사이트
On January of a seemingly July 14th, the child wept again. Only this time, more children바카라 웹사이트wept. I could not eat, sit or sleep. This day was worse than the previous days. An image of a bunch바카라 웹사이트of kites, trying to float in the rainy sky. I picked up a book to read a story of a kite which was made바카라 웹사이트to lift a lover over the walls in the Han dynasty. I really tried.바카라 웹사이트
When the city of Patang Walas soiled wet, restless in the winter rain, a morsel of pity in바카라 웹사이트the form of til appeared. A heart-shaped 'til ka laddu' floated in the drain outside my house. Someone바카라 웹사이트had thrown a tantrum somewhere uphill I reckoned. ‘Nah koi umang hai.....’ in my ears as I paced바카라 웹사이트back and forth. My nerves did not understand my love for winter. The ‘Uttaryan dhamaka’ playlist바카라 웹사이트churned the previous night now lay deserted, making way for crying children, wailing at the top바카라 웹사이트of their lungs as if they had lost all the imaginary kite fights. so much was amiss. The missing바카라 웹사이트blast of music. A full firki or spool of kite lines missing in action. No birds were harmed in the바카라 웹사이트process of the premature homecoming of rain. No kites soaring through the sky. No tangles. Disquiet.바카라 웹사이트
No more shrieks of bewilderment. The noise was replaced with sighs and a battered cheater of a바카라 웹사이트company. Also, no swinging on lampposts jumping in puddles and twirling of umbrellas. A scene바카라 웹사이트of altered despondency. Like a drought would have been better and could have made sense.바카라 웹사이트Singularly, the wind would only carry the burden of entertaining.바카라 웹사이트
The kinnah (kite bridle) tying parties now seemed like an exercise in futility. The kite바카라 웹사이트sellers don’t even take refunds. Tugs and jumps of the youth now was a distant memory. A day바카라 웹사이트marred by contretemps. A wet rub of the green.바카라 웹사이트
I went down to the back shed. Outside, the rain did not get the hint. Before the younger바카라 웹사이트brother left for Bangalore, he had stored his childhood here, in the shed. It was safe here. From the바카라 웹사이트rain even. From kite fights. From my father. From the ultimate winter sport of the January sun. As바카라 웹사이트I scanned, I started thinking. I stared; I gently kicked a few cardboard boxes around. When I saw바카라 웹사이트it, I knew. When I knew, I remembered. I drew it out like a Houdini at the end of his last show on Earth --바카라 웹사이트a huge pink and organdy fabric ceremonial kite known as a tukkal which is a fire kite. Kite light with a lantern and hoisted up in the sky. This three-bow tasselled kite was as light as a leaf.바카라 웹사이트
The dust on its edges revealed a spider's web. Its occupants hurriedly disappeared in the dark of바카라 웹사이트
the shed. Kite making is an art while kite flying is a sport. The only question was- Will the winter rains바카라 웹사이트
win or my kites in this winter sport?바카라 웹사이트
I handed the kite to the last crying kid when I came out of the shed. Remembrance became a revelation. It was almost dusk. He stopped crying as the lantern-lit up his headspace. The rain had바카라 웹사이트finally died. The Shiroshi consoled the child in me. A hundred tukkals lit up the clear starred sky.바카라 웹사이트
(Shalini Singh is an experienced book author with a demonstrated history of working in the Legal Services Industry. Skilled in International Law, Criminal Law, Alternative Dispute Resolution, Arbitration, and Public Speaking. Strong Media and Communication Professional with a Master of Laws - focus on Constitutional And Administrative Laws)