Why am I unwilling to put my hand out in the rains?
Why am I afraid of getting my shirt dirty?
Where is the joy now in the monsoons?
All I can see are dull drab gray clouds,
All I can see is slow-moving, unending traffic,
All I can see is three months of miserable commuting.
Where is the little boy who used to run out at the first sight of monsoons?
And stayed there till someone dragged him in by the ears!
Where is the excitement in building paper boats in a clear stream?
And where is the innocence of running after them?
To help them along their way or to watch them sink.
Where is the hope of looking at the rain out the windows,
Secretly wishing for a holiday tomorrow?
And that loud scream of joy when you get that wish fulfilled!
Where is the fun in stomping in potholes in over-sized gum-boots?
And the pain in getting your skin nicked in the muddy water?
And when everything used to be alright after
applying a Mickey Mouse band-aid and some hot chocolate.
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