Sun, Rain, and the Magic in Between

This morning, the air was quite warm and the sun shone brightly, casting golden light across the orchard. The sky was a soft, endless blue, with not a cloud in sight. It felt like a small gift—this rare, clear summer morning. Up here, nestled in the hills, such days are few. Most of the year is spent wrapped in woolens, with the cold clinging to our windows and the mist curling into every corner. Even at the height of summer, warmth like this feels borrowed, fleeting. Though it was a little towards the hot side but still the day felt nice.

But as the hours slipped by, the mood of the day began to shift. Wisps of clouds crept in from the edge of the sky. A weather front was creeping in. The sunlight, so confident in the morning, began to retreat and return in quick flashes, as if it were playing a quiet game of hide and seek. And slowly, the warmth gave way to a gentle breeze, and the brightness softened into a cool, grey hush. After a warm—actually, slightly hot—morning, the shift in weather felt like a welcome relief. I had no complaints about the sunny start to the day, but this sudden change brought a certain comfort that felt even better.

Now, as I sit in the comfort of my little greenhouse, it has started to rain. Soft at first, like a whisper on the roof, then steady—each raindrop adding its note to a melody that only a quiet hillside can offer. The sound is soothing, like an old lullaby, and I find myself almost drifting off. But I try to stay awake. There’s something about this kind of rain that feels too precious to sleep through.

The smell of pakoras has just reached me—spicy, familiar, mouthwatering. There’s also the unmistakable aroma of milky chai rising from the kitchen, curling through the air and finding its way to me. What is it about rainy evenings that makes chai and pakoras feel like a celebration? Deep-fried to a golden brown, the pakoras are best enjoyed hot, dipped in a tangy sauce or chutney. And chai—sweet, creamy, and spiced just right—is the perfect companion. It’s as if the rain invites them, calls them to the table. And the chai has to be milky and sweet, no other variations work !

Yes, they’re indulgent. Not something for every day. But on a slow day like this, when the world outside is washed clean and the mountains are wrapped in mist, such small cheats feel earned. After all, when most days are filled with homegrown greens, grains, and mindful meals, a plate of pakoras and a steaming cup of chai is a kind of joyful rebellion.

So here I am, listening to the rhythm of the rain, looking at the misty valley in front, the first bite already melting in my mouth. It’s going to be a quiet, comforting evening—one of those that makes you pause and feel grateful. For the sun. For the rain. For the food. And for the slow, simple life that gives space to enjoy all.

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