How does it happen? We have concrete streets. Where does this 'open' soil come from? There are patches of green in the vicinity; a few trees. They must quench their thirst and let out this earthy breath.
I was overwhelmed and just stood there 'drinking' in the scent. Nature, as always, silenced me.
It is a few days on and now it's a downpour. It brings us news of water logging, disrupted public transport, structures falling down. The lakes need water, drought-prone areas have been parched, grains need to grow and reach our tables, even as there are mandatory pictures of urchin kids bathing in the showers near the gutters whose smell I am put off by from my high floor and insulated life. They sleep on drenched slabs of public space. The monsoons have overdone it.
Nature overwhelms in different ways.
This afternoon, as the sky darkened, I shut out all thought and listened to some elevating music. Ustad Rashid Khan's voice is the most soothing thunder one could possibly listen to. This one is in Bengali, a language I barely understand. But, then, did I know how the rains would turn out to be?
Last year I had captured 'Rains from my window': http://youtu.be/uztqiwldRyQ
The video link to 'my rains' (re-posted the link) is particularly poignant now, for last night one of the trees 'fell' — "what if the tree falls?" I ask in the voiceover. But it hasn't really fallen. The root is adamant. It is the branches that could not withstand the lashes of rain and the gusts of wind.