Strong breeze whizzing past you looks ready to fly you away in its wake. The violent roar of the storm seems to stem from an anger buried deep in the elements since ages. Rain drops falling violently on your face seem to bring a pristine coldness straight from the heavens. It’s raining in Delhi.

It’s an exhilarating experience – the first rains of a summer, esp, the heartlessly hot north Indian summer. It’s the weather that thrills you to the bones and yet looks askance at you, “That’s how unbridled nature is. That’s how the elements unwind. That’s where the real pleasure of life is.”

Its the weather that makes you want to be a seven year old once again – a “rainy day” off at school, feeling the rain drops on your face, splashing water jumping in the puddles, running your hand through wet hair with rain drops dripping off the sides, dancing in the rain with the school bag on your back and coming home all drenched.

It’s the weather that makes poets out of us grown-ups, those who are too old to be seven year olds again.

And no point trying to describe the feeling. Go to your terrace or your apartment balcony, stretch out your arms, face slightly up and just soak in the moment (and the heavenly drops of joy !!!).

Pure bliss, like so many other things, is beyond description.