The long awaited monsoon arrives and leaves with the same thunder and lightning. My thirst quenched by hot sweet chai, I sit outside to watch dew worms wiggle out of the earth. Morning songsters start the alap one by one, then shift to a concert as more birds join in – mynahs, warblers, mourning doves, a crow or two. And the squirrels, not to be outdone, chitter loudly at everything. Crickets start up where they had left off in the predawn light. Each leaf sprinkles a benediction on me as I walk through the petrichor.
an urchin offers fallen frangipani
to a stone Buddha
Note: The alap is the opening section of a typical North Indian classical performance.)