Skip to main content

Monsoon Canopy

Throughout the year, I wait and think when the monsoon will reach my door and I will rejoice and reinvent my childhood again. Monsoon has always been my favourite season of all. The clouds clash and clanger, then the devious drops after the summer will finally smite the earth surface and we will call, finally the monsoon has arrived. Why eagerly wait for the monsoon, which gives so much trouble- getting wet, mud everywhere, insects and endless things. Monsoon conversely is a pity for many of us. But, it’s a love for me.
I was born in the month of July, when the clouds were heavily pouring rain. May be that’s the only thread if a connection is to be made, rest of all are memories. Being Bengali, I am one of those absurd one, who look to purge out from the daily duties and often like to get lost in the field of allegory. A guitar, a window, rabindra-sangeet, a cigar and khichudi in the lunch will do. I can do anything to find this opulent day on my monsoon calendar.
Have you ever tried after your teen age making a paper boat and floating it into the monsoon water lodge? May be you have done it for your kids, may be for your brother but might never did it for yourself. I do. I find myself in that boat floating into the monsoon rain. I always had this fascination in my mind, what if I was born at the place where my father was born. The Ichamati River, the cottages and the children playing and dancing with the rain on the field with that football. Monsoon has no propriety, it is not for the genteel, and that’s why like me and my heart, I am betrothed so much with this season.
Monsoon means getting older with rains. With the growing ages, we share our happiness and sadness with the rain. Imagine a day, when you are ashen, and you feel to allude from the life you have, the rain will do the things for you. It will bring back and give the peace of life. Happiness for me is monsoon in similar way. There is no perfect season for love other than monsoon, I believe. Hands in hand walk with your girl getting drenched with the rain on a Saturday evening you will longed-for.
The lambent sun, the clemency of storm, the lurching of coconut trees, the resonance of the thunders, the dilapidated houses is not the totem for the affluent people. It is for the sedentary people like me, who just crave throughout the year, to enjoy the season. Yes, I am an avaricious and I can do anything to apprehend the Monsoon.
I hope this monsoon showers happiness among all.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Lost Year- 2025

  30th December — 11:32 p.m. Another year has passed. Was it worth the pain it carried? Or if one thinks of a year as broken or lost, does that loss still leave something behind—something that makes us stronger in ways we do not immediately recognize? This year began with a fracture. I lost my grandfather—my old blood. I have not been able to return to my ancestral home even once since February. Somewhere along the way, my emotions stopped moving freely; they now travel with baggage, heavier than before. Grief does that—it does not announce itself loudly, but it settles quietly, altering how one feels everything else. Challenges followed. My father-in-law went through a serious health crisis, casting a long shadow across the year. It became a season of constant worry, a prolonged state of uncertainty that demanded resilience even on days when strength felt absent. My wife, too, bore her own loss. She lost her grandmother—a woman I see as the flag-bearer of courage, one of the stron...

Solitude or Destitution?

Reading Dostoevsky 28 December, 2025 — 11:42 p.m. After dinner, I watched  Seven Years in Tibet . Perhaps it was inevitable that the film would find me now—after inward turbulence, after a season of questioning. The story follows Heinrich Harrer, a mountaineer driven by conquest, and his unlikely friendship with the Dalai Lama. Yet beneath the historical narrative lies a quieter inquiry: what truly impoverishes a human being—solitude, or attachment mistaken for fulfillment? Heinrich begins as a man obsessed with ascent. Mountains are not merely landscapes to him; they are proofs of worth. His journey from Austria to conquer Nanga Parbat mirrors a deeper hunger—to rise above others, above limitation, above consequence. War interrupts this ambition. Captured by the British during World War II, Heinrich escapes imprisonment and wanders into Tibet, a land untouched by the vocabulary of conquest he carries within himself. In Tibet, something unravels. Heinrich comes close to a culture t...

An Open Letter

I wrote this letter to my dad, in search and support of the dream which I see. I never thought to post this private life of mine, but somewhere everything that appear on our blog and social networks are all private. I share this piece with you all, just because if someday I reach to my dream, I can see the post again and compare it with the time.  Here it goes.. It’s been one year, since I completed my engineering. In life, we always love to see dreams. With dreams comes focus or target, there lies the term achievement. Setting goals, keeps the motive of our life. Satisfaction is just lethargy which prevents from all the excitement of life. Here, I am, writing this mail, with a much level matured thinking of past 6 months, when I am aiming to live life for my much desire standard. Goals.  Yes, for which life means to be. As, you know, there are 2 types of goals, short-term and long-term. My life, after engineering was to achieve the short term goal, though the ...