Baskadia

It was a Sunday morning and I woke up to a pleasant weather when suddenly the sky turned grey and the clouds were warrior-ready to attack the day.

Within seconds it started raining. The sky was a patchwork of different shades of grey and it was really beautiful, now I knew why they call the sky, a painter’s canvas.thought the rain would stop in an hour or two but as time passed the rainfall got heavier and heavier.

Droplets trickled down my window resembling the tears on the face of a crying child as I sat by reading a book. Not only was there heavy rain but thunderstorms as well and it was almost like the lightning was playing ‘catch me if you can’ on the sky.The wind howled, sharing the secrets of the world. By afternoon, the roads were waterlogged yet the rain did not stop. There were people enjoying the rain on their terraces but some remained inside like me.

My parents were annoyed as they had to go for grocery shopping but they couldn’t. I enjoyed it as the rain washed away all my worriesnoticed that due to so much rain my garden turned muddy. After some time I felt bored so I went for a stroll on my terrace and I could smell the musty, barky, smell of fresh rain fallen on the dry earth.

The smell of petrichor lightened my mood and I wished I could bottle up that heavenly aroma of nature. After the pitiless rain throughout the day, it reduced at night.