Family Ties
The beloved monsoon has finally arrived. Every nook and corner of the city is alive with the scent of fresh wet green leaves; sometimes the scent is interlaced with the invigorating aroma of ginger-tea and hot onion bajiyas. As the city comes out on the streets to celebrate, there is someone in some corner of the city longing to be home, to be eating those bhajiyas with a house full of people they grew up with, and to be home at last. As children jump in those puddles and enjoy the splashes cool water all over their face, one face drips with tears of longing. The rain, for that heart, is the tale of its woe and lonesomeness. The rain drops recite a different poem for a heart in pain. When the rains pour down heavily on the barren lands, splashing drops are hurt by the unperturbed cracks in the soil. The cries of a million drops are heard as music by plenty, some know of the agony they face to soften a hard heart. Pain never dies out completely. Like any other energy, it can only ...