The clouds gather force. One thinks they are going to burst, gushing open the sky. Alas, their performance disappoints the hopeful. A gentle wind sweeps the gray across the atmosphere, revealing a bright blue sky. It will not rain today.
The sun shows itself, bringing down a windless heat. A few cumulous puffballs remain. These clouds are seducing, tempting one to expect cool showers. They tease the parched fields, plowed into neat, furrowed columns. With the coming of the first rain, seeds will be sown into the thirsty soil. They play with the mind, planting the voice of 'maybe' into an otherwise content place. This 'maybe' has taken over my otherwise reasonable thinking.
Maybe it will get darker.
Maybe the wind will blow stronger.
Maybe the sun will go away.
Maybe the clouds won't thin out.
Maybe it will rain.
I look for any aggregation of gray, for a time when shadows disappear. I keep my olfactory senses alert for the scent of freshly soaked earth. Any sign indicating the arrival of the awaited monsoon, I am impatient to detect.
It's like a marathon. The first few miles are a cinch. The middle portion is more challenging, but one knows there is a long way to go, so one chugs on. However, the last mile is the hardest, because one is just waiting to see the finish line. According to the villagers June 15 marks that finish line for the Rajasthani summer. Maybe the finish line is closer than we think. Maybe a surprise on June 13 will eliminate an extra two days' wait. But the clouds remain suspended above, inert and lifeless. It will not rain today.