In Calcutta, the pre-summer thunderstorms, aptly called Kaal Baishakhi, are frightening. Even though they are expected during the months of April they still take you unawares. A hot sunny afternoon sky suddenly turns black. Rapid winds start blowing, winds so strong that they often uproot trees and poles and destroy houses. And then it starts raining. Lashing rain that stings your face like a thousand whips. Scared, you take shelter in the comforting safety of your homes. Sharp sparks of lightening flashes on you like a camera gone havoc. You watch from behind the curtains of your latched windows, thankful that you are not out there exposed to the wrath of nature. You wait for the clouds to clear out and sun to shine bright again. The storm quietens eventually but the sun does not shine again till it rises the next day.
Life to me seems to be like a series of these thunderstorms. You brave the fiercest of storms hoping that everything shall soon be alright. This too shall pass, you tell yourself. But it seldom does. Seldom.