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Word Count: 985
The express train hurtled across the landscape - remorseless uncaring I sat by the window looking at nothing in particular Suddenly the sky burst open and unleashed liquid needles of rain on the expectant earth The root above me rattled in protest as adventurous little drops skipped in through the window on to my lap And then imperceptibly I had melted into the six-year old who peeped through the doors of her grandmothers house in Delhi at the newly baptised world outside wondering if she would be allowed to play in the rain Through the rose-tinted glasses of childhood every season unfolded layers of wonder and promise In the monsoons I would revel in a celebration after the first shower The freshly-bathed trees shrouded in a dim fairy twilight held a temptation that was only just stronger than the aroma of pakoras from the kitchen Resolutely I would turn my back to the call of the appetite and instead step out into the emerald atmosphere that beckoned The smell of henna strange to say came from every tree that I ventured near The bold lemon was the only exception Its spicy odour would travel to my nostrils while I ran a tentative finger along a leaf Shyly a droplet would trickle down to my palm and I would smell it as if it were some essence accidentally spilled from Paradise Finally when the monsoon had departed in its last dripping glory comes the time for bracing evening walks with my mother The chill air so like a blessing would caress my bare arms which I swung back and forth This was September - the most romantic of names for the most magical of months - which brought with it autumn - another thrilling title Fallen leaves firm and crunchy even in their brown death carpeted our paths And the flowers - in a profusion of colours from red to purple to yellow to orange -
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