A Summer Storm in Delhi

This blog literally fills me with shame and guilt. It wholly represents me: started with promises, made a fool of myself, abandoned it. Now I can’t claim I will be better this time round, but we can always pray together; a little rain-dance won’t hurt either.

This is my new diary. I have another blog, but that would be relegated to my fiction urges. So, my diary unlike other diaries is quite disciplined and focused in content. Not that I have ever read them (except the famous “edited” diary of Anne Frank) but since they all take inspiration from chaos called life, they must be quite unruly and emotion-filled. My current one – the one in book form – is no exception, but it has general themes like future project ideas, timetable etc.

This would follow the same pattern, hopefully with more success since I waste all my time on the net. So, here I lay the foundation of my online journal. *Horns and gun salutes*

Dear Diary,

You would be pleased to know that you are the only thing in this whole wide world in whom I have no real interest due to my famed laziness, yet I force you upon myself every now and then without fail, for no apparent reason. Either I do things or don’t but you can’t be labeled into boxes; I have displayed tendencies to ignore you then embrace you, only to abandon you. Yet you remain my faithful companion. You never feel jealous of facebook. You don’t force me to choose between life and you. You never ask me my better times, even though I inflict upon you all my driected anger and sorrow. Maybe that’s why I still take solace in you.

This is the first time though, you have found me directly addressing you. Before now, I have always written to the mythical reader who might be reading you. But I never approached you directly, afraid that audience would make fun of me. “Diary? Who talks to a ‘dear’ diary!” Alas! I had uttered similar words once. But no more my dear, you are my partner-in-crime from now on.

Don’t you feel the nature hugging you on this roof, as the strong wind passes us by – the rustle of leaves in the background and the big “swoosh” as I grab my chair afraid that I would be gone with the wind. Don’t you feel the chillliness as sweat on your neckline evaporates and electricity zooms from head to toe. Oh don’t you love the respite this summer storm gives you this evening? I love it, my diary! It makes me happy!

Yet as I am writing to you, guilt grabs my collar. And a sadness sweeps me. Isn’t this the first time I am sharing stories of gay and joy with you? Yes, it is. I just hope such fun times extend in the future.

Hey! Did you see that? Did you see that sheet fly over there! It was so big and hard and red and strong, still it got carried away. A crack and a thud, and that big board was flowing as if weightless in this windy wind. But our vine remains where it is, standing against all the currents. It has steadily climbed the rope above my head over these past months. And a steadfast decision it has made! No malathi before it could achieve what it has achieved: this particular vine – gourd or perhaps melon – has reached the water tank overhead, that is the end of the rope itself! Who could have thought it could be done. Madhu malathi remains in its old corner along with the new vine; it never was one to achieve the length we hoped – year after year – it would. It didn’t have the wherewithal to stand the white sun or the black winters. I used to jump with joy to see some of its tentacles sticking to the same rope, but they would shrivel up and fall apart each Decemeber. Though, the summer is equally fortunate on it; right now its bush is the greenest among all plants on our roof right now.

The clothesline has a single shorts hanging on it. And the windy wind is shaking it up and down, up and down. I think of taking it off, putting it safely in a corner but again, the weather is so good, any kind of activity feels non-sense right now. Typing away in a corner seems dirty as if somehow I am sitting among nature and still not enjoying it. But the heart of my heart knows how I am feeling right now. Delhi doesn’t get graced with such a pleasant weather and I am sitting in this dark only to enjoy it.

It is 8 sharp now. Mummy has come back from office. Babu has gone down as well. Although i don’t feel like going, I should go now. The wind has died down considerably. I don’t feel like I could be swept off my feet and be carried away like that lifeless board. And I have obligations – my projects, calculus and such flimsy things. I might be the only person enjoying the night in my perimeter. I heard that boy in the new building in front of our house say, “Close the windows! There are mosquitos.” He is right. I hate those tiny creatures with an unparalled fury. I left my door open, and God knows how many mosquitos sit downstairs behind the curtains looking for opportunities to bite me when I go down.

And thus I go, taking with me the mysteries of mind, the joys of the summer storm and the lonely shorts on the clothesline shaking in the fury of windy wind.


– Anon Con

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