Just got back from a couple of days in Delhi – as usual, happy to be back in Bombay. Just being in Bombay makes me feel that all is well with the world (ok, here I push the Worli image and other such disturbing thoughts from my mind, just for a moment, ok). Good to be back home.
And now this post from Annie about what the Delhi drizzle means to her –
Besides, the weather’s too delicious to allow critiques. Or angst.
All you can do is walk in the monsoon drizzle. All you can feel is the damp edges of your skirt brush your toes. All you can think of is that breeze in the balcony. The morning papers are almost an intrusion into an otherwise harmless world…
Delhi rains are. Stilling.
Like you want to be very still. Like the world might stop, and gawk at it’s own reflection in a puddle, and brood about how happy it is.
The weather in Delhi is stilling… This is a picture I got back from Delhi – I cannot think of a better word to describe it..
Bombay – the rains are lashing.
They bind you, they confine you, they swamp you, they confront you, they rise up in sheets and walls and are nearly an assault on the skin, but they don’t stop you. Strangely, Bombay rains are not ‘stilling’.
True, the rains in Bombay are not stilling. Or relaxing. To me, they are about life and movement and destruction. All at the same time. Like the huge waves crashing on the rocks at Marine Drive.
Somewhat like Bombay itself…
What does the Bombay monsoon mean to you?