Wave after wave rising, swelling, crashing. Question after question flowed out, flowed in, went on..and along with the questions, a few answers surfaced, rose like the waves.
Within many questions lay answers, or hints to them. And within many answers, especially the ones which I now feel were short-sighted, lay hidden many more questions.
The cliff stood firm, though, watching this play, back and forth, wave after wave, question after answer, answer after question.
This time, this year, this place.
This is the longest we’ve stayed at a beach, and with barely any ‘distractions’ , there has been a lot of time and mindspace to observe the churning of the sea, this dark grey matter which stretches so far and deep.
The magic that is monsoon, after the months of waiting, the looking up at empty skies, the beating of the cruel sun, the long days of summer, the dry landscape, helplessly watching the weakening rivers and lakes, the cracking up of the soil, the slow roasting of leaves on plants, awaiting the cooler breeze of the evening, waiting..
And magically, cyclically, slowly, sometimes suddenly and scarily fast, there is a cloud formation like this. Pregnant with hope.
Flash! Boom! Crack! Boom! Rumble! The breeze picks up, the mercury cuddles up and shrinks and cowers down, trees open up – sway and dance, birds seem to surf the skies in the strong gusts and our hearts soar as the first tiny or the first HUGE drops splatter down.