I miss the monsoons in Kerala. I feel truly blessed to have been born in the land of Lord Sree Vallabha.
I miss those days when I would stand beneath the great wooden doors, facing the Garuda Mada Thara at the entrance of the temple, wondering whether I should brave the heavy rain and go home. Yet, something about the atmosphere would hold me there a little longer, the fragrance of agarbathi and camphor, the gentle movement of people reciting Narayana Namam, and the excitement on an old lady’s face as she waited eagerly to watch the Kathakali.
The very air seemed to carry an Aum mantra. Every breath felt divine. There was an inexplicable presence in every nook and corner of the temple compound. Something I could neither see nor describe, but could deeply feel.
I cherish those moments. They live somewhere deep within me, like the monsoon itself; timeless, sacred, and unforgettable.
