Those tiny little droplets knocked on my window pane, I looked out of the window, lightening followed by a loud thunder brought goose bumps all over body. Monsoon, the dreadful monsoon was back. Just like the out-pour without, I could feel an entire deluge, ready to burst out any moment, from within.
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I would have never, not even in my wildest dreams, described MONSOON as outrageous but the destiny had orchestrated this with utmost dexterity.
It had been 3 years since we had first met. Our first meeting was still etched perfectly into my memory.
It was raining cats and dogs and I had rushed to a small restaurant, strangely named “HALF SAMOSA”, which was, supposedly the only shelter people had found and obviously had no vacant tables. After a long day at work, I was exhausted and had readily accepted a guy’s offer of sharing the table with him.
He was savouring that samosa, I had never seen someone eat anything, leave alone a samosa , the way he was.
“Would you like some, their samosas are the BEST”, allowing his samosa to take a break, he had proposed sharing his samosa with me, which I had refused with a smile.
That was our first encounter which ended with a general introduction.
It was monsoon and often after work it would rain and I had to rush to this very restaurant where strangely I would meet him every single day.
Days passed by.
We continued sharing the table even then when there were empty tables around.
It was the first time we shared a samosa. He left half of his for me; taking into account my inability to eat hot food. I had found that samosa the tastiest that day.
“You know why this place is named Half Samosa?” he asked, as I munched in my share of the Samosa.
I shook my head showing my ignorance.
“They say TO SHARE IS TO LOVE, and it is believed that leaving half the samosa for your beloved one is a way of saying I LOVE YOU, it increases love”, he explained.
He had confessed his love for me in the most genuine way.
I still don’t know if that belief is true enough but it did increase our love and finally we got married on JULY 8th, 2015.
We loved monsoon because it was this season that had left us drenched in the rain of love.
And then came the ill-starred day.
“It is raining really hard, we should not go to for a drive”, I had cried.
“What harm can our beloved monsoon do to us?”, he had argued. He went alone that day only to realize later how ironical his words had been.
Monsoon did harm him and I abhorred it since then. He met with a severe accident and was unfortunately paralyzed.
It had been a year and monsoon was back encased with all the bitter sweet memories.
I looked at him, his gaze constant at the rain droplets on the window.
“Samosa?”, he said in a sluggish way.
I dashed into the restaurant and brought samosas , opened up the wrapper and put one in front of him.
After half the samosa was done, he refused to have more, perplexed, I looked at him.
He had left the half piece for me.
Once again he had expressed his love for me in the most innocuous way.
He giggled, I smiled .We were in love again. We were contented again.
I had found my love, my love for him and for the monsoon or may be love had found me.