Mechatronics is not even a word on this word processor. It is underlined red, a word not recognized in the English language. The closest match suggested, as I see, is macaroni. The stupidity of the whole thing is funny.
June 5th 2008. Outside, blustering winds and rumbling thunder, along with the enchanting prospect of imminent rain, have turned the landscape into a scene straight out of poetry. Ah. First showers.
Children come prancing down the stairs, to do a little jig, looking expectantly at the skies from time to time, children being children in all their uninhibited childishness.
Red gulmohar flowers dot the road in front of my building, and a lot more are plucked off from the tree by the notorious winds, and carried off in crazy swirls that defy geometry, and teach us more about the shapes of the world than any manmade art ever can.
And finally it starts raining. A gentle drizzle at first, then it slowly picks up until the patter on the window shed is all I can hear when I stand looking outside. Some water blows onto my face as well, wetting my spectacles. Surprised, I back off. The sweet smell of wet earth evokes strange emotions, and distant memories, which I really need not describe, for what every man feels and recollects during such special moments of proximity to nature shall be unique to him, and himself alone.
A quiet calm envelops the heart, and softly, ignites little desires left unheeded. A longing to see my grandparents once again, a longing to go down and play football like there’s no tomorrow, and come back drenched to the bone, and enter the house to the smell of piping hot tea. A longing to meet old friends, a longing to spend a little more time with loved ones than time permits, and a longing to be small and innocent again.
But, mechatronics beckons again, and sighing, I sit down to study, as there is an exam tomorrow. Such is life, for all its romance and poetry.
