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Indian Monsoon This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.


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I had never seen so much water in one place at one time
The Indian air was nothing like home
heat and humidity hung lazily over the air
The steady pounding of the raging storm against the glass
windows was impossible to miss
We sat tired, hot, and bored to death in yet another relative's home
where we got the usual you-look-so-much-bigger greeting

The murky, dark water was rising and flowing
rising and flowing
India was a giant bucket sitting outside
being filled by the downpour
the water was icy cold unlike the stuffy air
getting into our house was a nightmare
the angry, freezing water kept rising and rising and rising
inch by inch by inch
in no time at all it was up to my waist
it was revolting, sickening, smelling of dead bugs

Yet the nightmare wasn't all bad
at least for me
the whirlpool of water sucked up my sister's light blue shoe
it was a miracle we ever found it
I have to admit
that watching her panic
put a smile on my face

The next morning we could still hear the now familiar sound of rain
the drenching downpour had slowed to a drizzle
the pounding sound of the rain had slowed to a tapping
but the bucket was still very much full
the scent of rainwater and breakfast filled our little home
and the sound of rushing water came closer
as the brown, disgusting water seeped inside

All we could do was wait for it to leave
the smell of humidity mixed with rain was almost unbearable
My grandpa stood by the door
trying to dispose of what had invaded our home
My grandma stood in the tiny kitchen
making the breakfast but surrounded by water
we sat on the hard bed, our possessions piled high
bored
uncomfortable
eating the warm, soft food that satisfied our taste buds

They were accustomed to the heavy monsoons that came
that time of year
we weren't
watching the rain falling
and the water flowing
and the children splashing and splattering all around
it was something new to us

The cramped bed felt as if it was getting smaller every minute
staring down at the inch of water which kept us trapped
the still cold water had turned crystal clear
below were various bugs that had died
above were what my sister and I called flying ants

The day of the flood with all the bugs and the rain
was a day that most people will never experience

Sometimes I wish I was one of those people

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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