The rain battered the lazy countryside. The deep, threatening rumble of thunder followed by a quick flash of lightning added to the somberness. As the rains incessantly lashed on the green earth, he lazily drifted towards the book shelf in the far corner of the room and decided to browse through the enormous collection of books in hopes of finding one that would suit the mood.
His eyes searched for the perfect book. He had wanted to do this for a while now, sit back and read a book, the mellifluous lyre of nature ringing sweetly in his ear, but time, time , time, the evasive bride of leisure in cahoots with crueler human endeavors. He sighed, while his eyes still scoured for succor. The monsoons had painted the earth bright green. The balcony overlooked a lush green forest which looked best from a safe distance. Uncanny activities have been reported by frightened eye witnesses many times. He cared for the eerie vegetation as little as he cared for the frightened eyewitnesses as long as he remained within the boundaries he had drawn mentally and the cheery denizens from the other side do not cross over. Besides, he always reasoned, the view is delectable and the apparent evils of the forests are drowned in the impeccable beauty. A railway track skirted the forests on the other side. Occasionally, the mechanical and furious chugging of trains could be heard in the distance, the only other sound that disturbed the silence, apart from the rain and thunder. It was however, perfectly congruous.
So, he had decided that the balcony it should be, while mapping a perfect monsoon evening in his mind.
What was the annoying impediment that stood between him and that perfect evening the first time? The relatives, he thought, the enduring legacies of hopelessness. A host of them had packed their bags only to bother him with their trite old tales of love, trust and deceit. Not that their presence was particularly allergic, but the post-visit trauma was something he had to cope with, with their predilection for leaving behind some obstinate mark of their visit. That’s where the second evening went, he mused.
What about the time after that? He thought, slumping on the large armchair, near the book case. Yes, the repairs. The bungalow, however imposing it was from the outside, looked distraught from the inside with exposed wires, water leaks and other sundry complaints. He knew that it was time to fix the old hag when she, in a well planned and cruelly juvenile act, dropped on his head a heavy and rusted pipe as he was cursing the dilapidated house. With luck, the maid, who was also cursing the house, was with him and was sensible enough to summon villagers for help. So went two weeks in the hospital bed and the weeks after that in repairs. The maid turned out to be a good choice. A middle aged woman who was energetic and level headed. She tended to him when he was bed ridden and brought him home cooked food saving him, like an angel, he thought from the agonizingly bland hospital food.
The following weeks saw untimely appointments, typhoid, death of pet dog, food poisoning and an inevitable dinner party. A hectic monsoon, indeed. Oh well, he whistled and got up to pull out a book from the proud collection, when he heard a familiar beep. He followed the beeping into his bedroom and saw the alarm clock vibrating enthusiastically. Puzzled, he picked it up and held it under the light of the table lamp only to see it proudly declaring the time- 06:30 am. He frowned in surprise and then it struck him. Not written in my destiny to unwind I guess, he thought and decided to get ready for work. The rain had subdued. The pitter patter of raindrops could be heard and a train chugged away hurriedly in the distance.
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