Spaces
Photograph by Naomi Shah
I noticed the sky becoming overcast, grey clouds throwing shadows on my restive mind — and then, it didn’t rain. The cloudburst that would clear the air with the new smell of earth didn’t arrive. I remained hanging in suspense about what the future would bring. If only I could hear the pitter-patter on my parched terrace, I would know where to begin. The dull, lingering humidity cast a pall on my brain, and began to weigh on me like a nameless, yet ominous, premonition.
I didn’t think a delayed monsoon would leave me so desperate, with such unfound or unknown expectations of a life that I wasn’t able to meet or find.
When it finally rained, I saw the wet palms outside my window and they reminded me of a previous life, where predictions came true. But now, the meagre…