Its raining mildly and I can feel the drenched wind. The sky has gone pale grey and the trees have been bent. The smell of earth has filled the air all around. Oh that monsoon, beloved Indian monsoon, I'm reminded of! Flush with downpour, downpour almost of love from above, the feet would feel the roads, melting into soft clay and to walk would no more be the desire but to dance ance through that monsoon, beloved Indian monsoon. Music from a streetvenors shop would pulse gently tugging at the heart, adding rhythm to the rhythm of breeze and children's laughter. There and then, could time stop? Or maybe now, with that sweet memory!