Rain

I always had an affinity for the rains. When my friends invariably voted for the winter, I would quietly revel the rains.
In the early rainy days, when I would get up into the windy mornings, the sky would already be heavy with nimbus clouds impregnated with water from the nearby perennial rivers. There would be a lull and the sky would be dark and hanging low. All of a sudden a cool, nippy wind would sweep down, blowing a chilly whiff around the area. The ambience would be grey, dull and chilly and we would be forced to keep our bulb lights on, even at seven in the morning. The wind would bring with it the ethereal radio’s muffled voice playing an immortal melody.
However there would be no thunder and an occasional lightening would intercept the morning twilight. People would be scurrying back hurriedly into the by lanes of Cuttack, with their stock of daily groceries or a baby clutched to their waists. The pessimistic electricity supply would immediately conk off as if on effect.
The stage set and people prewarned -the rains would come. Big drops of water. Very cold and hard on your face.Sometimes their strength hurts.But ,the rains would continue to fall mercilessly as if to unload its grief. At times, it would cruelly lash out, irrelevant to the bird caught in mid flight, to the boy standing under a shambolic thach.or the petty shopkeepers trying to pull down their shutters.
I, on my part would selfishly savior the moments. I would try to embrace the moist laden wind and throw open the windows. I would bravely venture out shortly into the rains and wet my face and feet. To watch the rainbow colored bubbles melting into flowing water is sheer poetry for me. The incessant, abominable water drops would pour out all that it has to give…, on the wooden garden bench, fill the potted plants and wash even the remote crevices on the roof With beauty and monotony, the rains would rage and rant continuously for hours. In these times I would withdraw into the quietness of my room, light a candle and pick up an intriguing book. The showers would spray me, through the open window, at intervals and remind me to acknowledge its existence. I would make myself some frothy coffee and team it with crispy,spicy bhajjis .
It is only late in the evening that the rain would decide to stop and it does so in the same suddenness as it appeared. A limp sun would show his face, for the first time after a day’s tussle with the grey clouds. However the sun would retreat back hurriedly, devoid of its strength. There would be calmness and only a few persistent crows would come out to clear their throats and caw. People would wade through knee deep ,clogged water and children would jump from one puddle to the other and fill the open drains with little colorful paper boats.The earth awashed squeaking clean ,the trees and plants nod with satisfaction and approval. One can hear the conches blowing as the evening prayers take place in the households and the day pulls to an end.
The rain is a soliloquy to life and its energies This outpour is a pacifier. It energizes and refreshes ones soul and revitalizes life .Through it Nature tell us - to hold on, to estimate ourselves in relation to itself ,to bereft ourselves of all littleness and partiality and to learn to give with selfless abandon.