The Petrichor.


Ever wonder what we really miss when we are  busy in our lives? How about the warmth of sun striking our window pane during sunrise? How about he mild zephyr bringing the feeling of silk over the skin, entangling our hair?  How about the morning chirps breaking the utter silence in the morning? 

Now, how about not being oblivious to the aroma of nature which has been sloughing off the stench of our mental stress and the burdens?

It’s a Sunday morning; drip drop drip little April showers, over my glass window, bead up creating an effect that is like looking through a thin veil of thousands of tiny gems.  The scent of rain on the verdant grass and the dust is alluring. Better than anything Gucci could ever produce. I am mystified over the transfer of such tiny pearls, and how the mixture of dust and these pearls can create a smell. The sweet, green smell of wet grass is intermingled with the sharp scent of rain, steaming from the street, and I can’t decide which smell I love more.

It’s a magic. It’s the ‘petrichor’.

Two things in my hands- a cup of tea and….. my life.I think of a drop, a single drop, its journey from the sky above, to little green shoots that sprout from the ground. Its change of state, its immense fall, its tackle through the wind pressures, and finally vanishing, leaving behind the scent, the ‘petrichor’. 

I then, realize what life would it be which does not leave an essence, the aroma of us when our bodies turn into ashes?
How worthless would it be to step on earth, and leaving  unnoticed, totally neutral?   

I consider it. I consider the nature. I consider the petrichor.

I sip the tea, and wait for the natural phenomenon to fall upon me. I dream of tropic weather and re-inhale the ‘petrichor’. I silently tell the drops flashing over the window, “thank you”.
Mere moments later, before I could return back  to my real life from my own ‘philosophical voyage’, a voice interrupted me, no, not the pitter-patters of rain this time but my mom asking me to go study.

After all, life is all about cramming the compound’s name that drop is made of. Deh! 


4 thoughts on “The Petrichor.

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