I was back home, tired from a day of hard work. Damn STUPID clerical work, but hard work. The heat this summer has been unbearable, which is why I'm glad I haven't had to go on field visits (not in farming lingo) yet. I took off my shoes, pelted them at the shoe shelf, ditto with my socks, minus the thud, went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, pulled out the coldest 2 litre bottle my hands could feel and began filling my tank.
Got the bottle out to the living room. Switched on the TV and watched the Knight Riders beat the Rajasthan Royals in between long swigs, and munched on some roasted Moong Dal.
And then I felt it. I could feel it rush through my nostrils. It touched every corner of my nostrils on its way down. It filled my lungs. The rusty smell made me nostalgic. I'd been waiting for this ever since summer began.
THE SMELL OF WET EARTH. THE FIRST DRIZZLE OF MONSOON.