Padma wadkar age

Wishing a very Happy Holi to all the readers

When the first monsoon rains quench the thirst of the parched earth, and dry rivulets, water bodies and ponds get filled with water, and green shoots emerge from dry plants and trees, and the farmers rush to the slushy fields for transplantation, it’s a time for joyous dance with abandon (Haryala saawan jhoom machata aya; Aha ha ha umad ghumad kar chaayee re ghata). When the freezing winter gives way to the spring, and the flowers bloom, and the land is awash with colours of Holi with songs all around, the hearts of even the haughtiest ladies are aflutter with desire. But when the lover is away, the same rains and spring only aggravate the torment of the lovelorn nayak or nayika pining for the lover. The pitter-patter of raindrops is like a heavy hammer pounding on the pulsating heart; the red colour of palash is like the flames of fire searing the already burning heart.

Remember KL Saigal sang the immortal:
बालम आये बसो मोरे मन में
सावन आया तुम ना आये
तुम बिन रसिया कुछ ना भाये
मन में मोरे हूक

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