As I stepped out of the building, the evening sun washed me over as if it was trying to have a final word before it leaves, followed by another familiar feeling. It was the petrichor. The wondrous fragrance of the first rain of the season.

When I was a child, I would often sneak out to play in the rains. The season of sailing paper-boats in the childhood gradually transformed into a way of soul-searching during the existential crisis of the teen years. I shifted several cities as a child and it was difficult to blend in, but rains were special. We always moved during the summers and this was followed by school admissions, new set of friends and neighbours and most importantly, my introduction to the class. “We have a new admission today”, they said.

Just when I started settling into the new place, the season of rains would arrive and I would get to dwell in the familiarity of this old friend.

As adulthood came along, so did the job pressures and other grown-up things of ‘monumental importance’. Things such as being the best. Just like the digital world full of clickbaits, people started putting their best, catchiest, most interesting aspect forward. Eventually, everyone and everything started having USPs while simple joys of life stopped having one.

Just like the digital world full of clickbaits, people started putting their best, catchiest, most interesting aspect forward. Eventually, everyone and everything started having USPs while simple joys of life stopped having one.

Today, rains have become equivalent of wet clothes that will need a laundry later, hair that would need a wash later and schedules that would need a delay later. In an attempt to meet others on time, I forget the last time I sat with myself over a cup of coffee.

While the race to reach the top has temporarily made us forget about the existential crisis, how long will you be able to postpone resolving it? What will be your answers to yourself when one fine day, you wake up questioning what exactly are you doing, who are you doing this for and how far is this going to take you? Or, to put it differently, when will a rain finally bring the joy of petrichor to your scorched soul trying to find meaning in this racing world?

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