<p>“Into each life some rain must fall,’’ remarked Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and I am reminded of that as I witness the dusky clouds gathering about the brow of the Heavens, presaging the dawn of the monsoons in Bengaluru. Thunder peals across the skies, announcing the coming of the rains, and lightning follows suit, streaking across the skies. An impressive show. And then suddenly, big, round drops of rain pelt at us as though hurled about, with gay abandon, by the Gods above. Delightedly, I look up.</p>.<p>Yes, it is that time of the year. The monsoons are upon us, and <span class="italic">namma uru revels in it. Bedecked with freshly bloomed, new leaves, upon her brow, she makes for a pretty picture, and the breathtaking scene, is completed by the droplets of water. Like gemstones, etched upon a diadem, is this crown of raindrops, resplendent upon our lady Bengaluru’s dark green tresses.</span></p>.<p>A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. And the garden city is newly-bathed, as though in a vivid, vivacious stream of glistening sheets of rainfall. She emerges from it, rejuvenated, like a newlywed bride, scrubbed and washed anew. Yes, it is a celestial union of sorts between the Heavens and the earth, and is proclaimed, mellifluously, with much fanfare, by the Gods of thunder and lightning, even as the rains dance about, merrily.</p>.<p>The rain stops. Yet, for a moment. A gust of wind rustles through the wind chimes, outside the countless houses all about and signals what seems to be the “second coming” of the monsoon Lord. Trees sway, rhythmically. Leaves shiver, flowers nod their heads, rather delightedly. Another gust of wind blows, and a merry tip-toe of leaves ensue, as they whirl about in a waltz of sorts even as the rain ‘tap-dances’, upon the tin roofs, of countless houses.</p>.<p>Children playing about erupt in a burst of laughter, the way only the young can. A couple, walking hand in hand, caught in the sudden gust of rain, look up entranced, then dance about, causing the old to stop and smile. And, of such a vibrant medley of emotions do the rain-laden clouds of the Monsoon evoke in all. In such an enchanting manner, as the words of Tagore say, “Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.”</p>
<p>“Into each life some rain must fall,’’ remarked Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and I am reminded of that as I witness the dusky clouds gathering about the brow of the Heavens, presaging the dawn of the monsoons in Bengaluru. Thunder peals across the skies, announcing the coming of the rains, and lightning follows suit, streaking across the skies. An impressive show. And then suddenly, big, round drops of rain pelt at us as though hurled about, with gay abandon, by the Gods above. Delightedly, I look up.</p>.<p>Yes, it is that time of the year. The monsoons are upon us, and <span class="italic">namma uru revels in it. Bedecked with freshly bloomed, new leaves, upon her brow, she makes for a pretty picture, and the breathtaking scene, is completed by the droplets of water. Like gemstones, etched upon a diadem, is this crown of raindrops, resplendent upon our lady Bengaluru’s dark green tresses.</span></p>.<p>A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. And the garden city is newly-bathed, as though in a vivid, vivacious stream of glistening sheets of rainfall. She emerges from it, rejuvenated, like a newlywed bride, scrubbed and washed anew. Yes, it is a celestial union of sorts between the Heavens and the earth, and is proclaimed, mellifluously, with much fanfare, by the Gods of thunder and lightning, even as the rains dance about, merrily.</p>.<p>The rain stops. Yet, for a moment. A gust of wind rustles through the wind chimes, outside the countless houses all about and signals what seems to be the “second coming” of the monsoon Lord. Trees sway, rhythmically. Leaves shiver, flowers nod their heads, rather delightedly. Another gust of wind blows, and a merry tip-toe of leaves ensue, as they whirl about in a waltz of sorts even as the rain ‘tap-dances’, upon the tin roofs, of countless houses.</p>.<p>Children playing about erupt in a burst of laughter, the way only the young can. A couple, walking hand in hand, caught in the sudden gust of rain, look up entranced, then dance about, causing the old to stop and smile. And, of such a vibrant medley of emotions do the rain-laden clouds of the Monsoon evoke in all. In such an enchanting manner, as the words of Tagore say, “Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.”</p>