Rainy Day – Contemplations

Today is a rainy day! It has been raining cats and dogs incessantly. Kids are at home. No one is going anywhere. No outdoor work being done. Even the birds are hiding away.

For people like us, every working day holds weight. When the skies keep us indoors, the pause comes with a price. I’m yet to build the kind of passive income or diverse revenue streams that would let me savour a rainy day without glancing at the accounts. The wisdom from financial gurus and management coaches—that money isn’t the key to happiness—rings true, yet I’ve found that the lack of it can still cast a shadow. A cushion of savings is not just a safety net for emergencies; it’s also a promise that my children can pursue good education without hurdles.

Rainy days, though beautiful, bring a subtle ripple to our livelihood. News of landslides or floods in distant hill regions—though far from our orchard—often slows the flow of guests to our homestay. And while our corner of the world remains lush, safe, and welcoming, perception travels faster than facts. Out in the orchard, rain keeps me from tending the trees, and even the simple joy of turning fresh fruit into jams and preserves becomes a challenge.

Yet, in the gentle drumming on the roof and the veil of mist over the hills, I’m reminded that life’s rhythm is not solely about output—it’s also about stillness, reflection, and the quiet work nature does beneath the surface to prepare for tomorrow’s abundance.

There’s beauty in the balance. The streams run fuller, the trees drink deeply, and our rainwater harvesting tanks brim to the edge, spilling over in generosity. Somewhere underground, the water table rises, storing life for the seasons ahead. Nature, it seems, is already sowing the promise of the next harvest.

When there are fewer guests at our homestay, it gives my team and me a chance to rest. We manage everything with just a small group of people, so these rainy days feel like a welcome break. I see one of them sitting in a corner, strumming a guitar, the soft music mixing with the sound of rain. Another, who usually works with me in the orchard, is in the greenhouse, holding a hot drink and quietly watching the raindrops slide down the glass.

Once I finish this post, I plan to settle down with a book on security analysis for some deep reading. Later in the afternoon, I might switch to something about orchard care, and in the evening, lose myself in a classic Agatha Christie murder mystery. No TV, no mobile. They are the biggest time trap.

With the rains, scents seem to linger longer. The bookshelves carry that warm, welcoming musty smell of old pages. Outside, the ground feels fresh and clean, and walks around the orchard are wrapped in a moist, earthy fragrance—something you can breathe in and feel, but can never quite put into words. It’s not the sharp, raw scent of the first rain on dry soil, but more like a well-soaked potpourri of pine needles and oak leaves. From the kitchen drifts the tempting aroma of fried snacks. perhaps pakoras, or maybe it’s just my wishful thinking playing tricks on me.

Even though worries about financial stability linger quietly in a corner of the mind, it becomes easier to simply enjoy the moment, to live it without overthinking. With just a little conscious effort, the rest is taken care of by the weather itself, and by the gentle mix of raindrops’ pitter-patter and a light sonata in C minor drifting through the air from the radio.

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