Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.
Over the past week or so, Dhaka temperatures have risen to a stuffy, collar-wilting 38° Celsius. It was as if air itself had vaporized and I was left in a heated, rarefied vacuum, breathing through my mouth. Little did I know the Ocean was sending tons of cool, moist air my way. Today, millions of tons of cold air arrived and bunched into dark, fluffy clouds that hung all around the horizon.
And then a sprightly gust brought in that familiar scent of earth-water-air mixed into one: that smell of something living, wild or even gamey – something almost not of this Earth. That savage-smelling wind that, during Monsoon, invades the civilized world – interrupting hectic corporate schedules, ruffling sheaves of printouts, toppling paper-cups and blowing the agenda away …just before the rains come pouring down. I love this wind that heralds the rains – perhaps because its such an outcast and because its drowned out by downpours so quickly.
Today, I slipped away from work to smell the ephemeral wind.