Brooms, Brolly and Becoming

On Rain, Reveries and Reality

Today was the start of the week and, like every other week in the recent past, I expected it to be a blur — to be swept away in the vortex of chaos that usually unfolds on a typical Monday morning.

The rainy spell still continued, and despite being a self-confessed pluviophile, I found myself longing for a clear blue sky — for that warm, bright sun peeking shyly from behind the clouds.

A little pool of water had collected on my balcony from the incessant rains. I went looking for the squeegee someone had left behind. My dogs shimmied down the stairs without a care in the world, while I carefully lifted up my PJ’s and tiptoed behind them. I have this irrational ick about the ends getting muddy — meanwhile my dogs went about their business with absolutely no icks given or taken.

Grr… the rains, I thought. Funny how, when you’re over 40, the rain stops being poetic and starts becoming… inconvenient. My thoughts kept circling back to the mayhem unfolding on the roads — chaos exacerbated many times over.

Back — many moons back — when I was in college in Bangalore, rainy days always had me in a thrall. They meant curling up under the duvet for hours or sitting by the window with a Sidney Sheldon novel in hand. Adding to the magic were endless rounds of coffee in those tiny steel tumblers and a plate of something crispy and savoury — vada, bajji, chips, whatever the day offered — always the perfect indulgence.

I do feel a little like a fossilised dinosaur when I say life was simpler and unfettered back then.

Now, bound by the chains of technology that supposedly make life easier and make us more accessible, I somehow feel more restrained — and more performative — than I ever did in those earlier times.

Earlier, the rain washed the world — and the soul — clean. Today, it could just as easily be the breaking news on the ticker: “Red alert.” “Traffic diversion.” “Commuters stranded.” Nothing short of an Armageddon in the making, end of days if the news channels had their way. Give me Doordarshan any day, with its impassive-faced anchors informing us of the goings-on — not lulling us into the hail-and-brimstone kind of believing and following.

I smile wryly. I’ve become the person I swore I’d never be. Back when “adulting” wasn’t even a word, I had — with youthful confidence — promised myself I'd live differently… less anxious, less overwhelmed by what-ifs, less consumed by things I can’t control.

But here we are — more anxious than ever, more desperate to be in control of everything.

The biggest bias of lived reality.

My thoughts continue to drift between the now and the then… not the Tokyo Drift kind my son keeps going on about, but the softer, slower curving and swaying of time. The then of innocent social media, where people posted, not postured…when it was cool to be on Orkut and Facebook, when updates were messy, impulsive, and real.

Now Instagram feels like a Shakespeare quote —“All the world’s a stage.” Except this version comes with curated lives, glossy reels, soft-filtered mornings, and brands peddling dreams.

Zero posting is the new cool — no posts but thousands of followers. Not surprised Gen Z is quietly turning its back on social media… honestly, more power to them. Social-media fatigue is a very real thing.

I chuckled at my Monday morning musings, especially when more pressing problems were jostling for space in my mind.

Life felt definitely was simpler then… unfettered, light, generous.

Today, I am working from home — which explains why the day feels slower. WFH wasn’t even a concept in my early working days.

You commuted, put in your hours, and if work wasn’t done, you simply carried it home. That was “remote work.”

And yet… I miss the chai-coffee banter, the impromptu lunches, the quiet camaraderie of working with teammates who slowly became friends — the kind who don’t text every day but always sense when something is off.

Breaking my rain-induced reverie, I got a call saying visitors were dropping by from Coonoor. The help had called in sick, so I found myself with a broom and dustpan in hand — my cue to return to the present moment.

No room for indulgent nostalgia.

Earlier, I came across a quote:“It is a privilege to have the life you once wished for — and to be tired at the end of a good day’s work.”

Did it make sense today? I’m not entirely sure.

Looking at the broom in my hand… hard to tell.

I do have miles to go before I sleep, and the woods are definitely looking lovely, dark and deep.

So the rain continues to work its strange, quiet charm on me… slowing me down, grounding me, reminding me that everything else — the costing, the pricing, the logistical labyrinth of building a brand — can wait. Just for a moment, be present, a voice inside me quipped . In the moment you live a liftime it said.

A tiny piece of advice before I end — if you’re the anxious type, always keep a brolly tucked in your bag.

You never know when a drizzle will decide to turn into a downpour.

Molecularly Yours,

Sanjana

Curiously Irrepressible

Click Me

https://www.molecularlyme.blog/post/what-i-build-when-no-one-s-watching

"To borrow from Roosevelt’s timeless words — you become the man in the arena, bloodied and bruised, yet standing tall after every fall.

"If I’ve made you curious, please click on the link above.Happy reading! 🌿