A Muggy Day in Assam

The air is heavy— like a warm, wet blanket wrapped around everything. The sun? Hiding behind a cloud, like it doesn’t want to deal with the day. The Brahmaputra flows— slow, wide, calm. It mirrors the dull sky, grey and tired like it skipped breakfast. The trees don’t move. Not even a whisper of wind. Just leaves, soaked with sweat, hanging there like they’ve given up. The cicadas sing— a slow, sleepy song, as June presses down on everything. The earth lets out a long, hot breath. Dragonflies zip past, quick little sparks in the still air. Then— a moment. Rain. Just a sprinkle. Just enough to tease. And then—steam, rising from the roads, rolling off the fields like ghosts in the heat. The tea plants droop, lined up in rows, too tired to smell sweet anymore. But even in all this sweat, this heat, this heavy, breathless air— there’s something strong here. Something green. Something alive. That’s Assam. Unshaken. Unbothered. Beautiful.