Song of the Rain

That artificial box, the metro was stuffed, stenching and philosophically boring. It was an ardous task to stand still, stare out of the window blankly and wait for my station to arrive. The aroma of dry chips intertwined with the hot  spices spewed out of the untied packet, the stink of sweats dried by air conditioners and the uneasy suffocation had caught my lungs. Pairs of eyes sensed my discomfort, but mine focused outside, with a hope to move out of this dingy coach.
The doors finally opened and a splash of little diamond-like droplets flew in. The cool breeze embraced my skin and I shoved myself of out that cell. The station was carpeted with dust and water. People were slithering out of that place and I was there, standing alone, cherishing the first monsoon spell.
I managed to move and walk steadily to my right and get downstairs. The windows to my left, half opened, busted some fresh air. Gradually, I checked out of the station and stepped outside. The sounds of pitter-patter on the shed above my head, the slush beneath the vehicles and criss-cross on the roads were all the euphonies of the rain. And somehow, they tuned in to one song, encompassing the other notes. The mesmeric music drew me out of the shed and drenched my body. The fresh wind hugged me tight and rejuvenated my senses. I could hear the exciting thunderous sound reminding the creatures of the fresh spell. The voices of people articulated Godly chantings and expressed gratitude of being awarded with such a blessing from the Heaven. The horns of the vehicles intruded the music played by the nature and my feet longed to dance on its beats!