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Meandering

The roads were peaceful on Monday, the fifteenth of August, as Bangaloreans enjoyed the rare three day weekend inside their homes or outside the city. I walked briskly as I turned the corner into the street on which my music teacher lived. I came to an abrupt halt at her gate with a groan. The suspicion which had been roused by the absence of sound was confirmed by the lock on the door. She was away. I should have called. I hung about in front of the gate for a few seconds, trying to change what I saw with sheer force of will. 
I realised then that I had nothing else planned for the next hour. It seemed like a waste to go straight back home after going through the trouble of making myself presentable. I decided to take a detour to a nearby bookstore. There was a birthday present to buy, and a visit to a bookstore is always an exciting prospect. I walked on with renewed energy. 

 I usually keep off the main roads, preferring the quiet side streets even if I have to walk a little more. I walk as briskly as possible,  thinking of the destination and occasionally glancing at my watch to check if I need to walk any faster. 
But on that Monday, I took my time. Instead of sticking to the usual roads, I made random turns, only making sure that I was heading in the general direction of the bookstore. It was a quiet evening, and I was beginning to enjoy the solitary meandering when it started to drizzle. My spirits reached a new high when the first raindrops hit me. Cloudy, rainy days make me happy. There is a new bounce in my step, and a wide grin on my face as ready to burst forth and greet the world as the water drops in the clouds above me. 
                                           Illustration by Ananya Ravikumar

I walked on, my eyes taking in the picturesque homes and the greenery, my ears revelling in the absence of  city noise, my skin tingling with the touch of the cool raindrops, and my nose taking in that wonderful damp-earth smell as it wafted towards me on the breeze. 

By the time I reached the bookstore, it was raining buckets. My calves were rather wet- but my trusty umbrella, an ageing affair of red, white and blue -had protected me from the worst. 


I spent a wonderful half hour at the bookstore, going through the shelves while inhaling the new-book-smell which,in my opinion, is second only to old-book-smell. I left the store with a Jeeves and Wooster for my friend, a beautiful colouring book for myself and a sense of peace and happiness. It had stopped raining, and I walked home instead of taking the bus. 
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