the smell of petrichor is one that always catches my attention.
its the scent of the soil after the first rain hits ground and one that is loved by a lot of people on the topic land of india.
i fall under that bracket too.
the earthenness of petrichor instantly grounds you back to reality, the blurs of the words slowing down until you are in touch with every breath you're taking.
The light splatter of rain makes the moment even more real and the soft breeze whizzing past your ears make the coolness of the moment even richer.
it's a very different kind of strength when you meet your roots again.
each year, irrespective of where i am, i await the signs of the first drops of rain and what they bring along.
the stability that i so yearn to feel.
there's a strange feeling as the scent hits me - a strange isolation i feel from the world where all i have are my thoughts and my woes.
they swarm strong as the petrichor gets stronger until a strange loneliness seeps in. now, i'm detached from the world, floating in a new plane where my thoughts and woes are nothing but a silent buzz.
its quiet, its peaceful, its calm.
it makes me immensely sad.
a sadness begins to seep through, and my heart now grows heavy. the thoughts and woes have now centered right where my pulse of life is supposed to be.
only now, it's my thoughts driving my life.
the throbbing intensifies and it scares me. my chest is a bubble of anxiety that must burst.
it will burst.
any moment now.
and it does.
a strangled yell leaves my throat and everything happens simultaneously. i laugh and i run my fingers in my hair, tears leaving my eyes simultaneously.
i don't stop until my heart is light.
and there it is, my voice reverberating in the trees nearby, absorbing all my pain until the voice dies down in the very soil that brought my emotions up to a brim.
i bury another years' worth of emotions.
my hands now enjoy the pitter patter of rains with a happier heart while my legs jump of sheer joy.
the anxiety ebbs away.
life returns.
and with it, a newfound wave of experiencing the true bliss of petrichor.
the adult in me dizzies out and there comes knocking the child who is so often deprived of enjoying the things that make him happy.
the child often denied ignorance because the weight of growing up finally takes a toll on the child who prefers to be stashed deep where nobody can rob him of his essence.
but that child finds its moments of freedom when its due.
the freedom, mingled with innocence is what petrichor enhances even further.
a reconnaissance that is often emancipating.
🤎
- a child within reconnecting an adult to its long-lost innocence
🤎
YOU ARE READING
Barren | ✓
Short StorySS1 || Every story has a colour of its own. And every colour has a story of its own. An ode to redefining the lost colours of our life. A collection of short stories redefining colours to the ones who've lost themselves in the spectrum of blurring...
