It has been raining quite a lot these days. Raining as much as one would expect from fertile monsoon weather.
Somewhere between the last four-five years, I lost my admiration for the rain. The bleakness of the sky, the constant noise of raindrops falling, since then make me feel incredibly restless. During such weather, I dislike nothing more than being in my own company so I spend most of monsoon hoping for the sun to adorn the fresh sky again.
The other day, my therapist told me to stay in the present moment and not to constantly be wishing for the sun to reappear. With this mindset, chasing the sun becomes the primary focus and the monsoon becomes a signifier of a sense of lack. The present always has something to offer, she had said. For example, the rain undoubtedly brings with it gloom but one must see how nature is nourished during monsoon. I noticed it first when my mom told me to keep the bedroom plant outside as it would grow better in rainwater. So I kept the sapling in the balcony among other plants to experience the rain for several days. I had expected it to wilt because of an excessive amount of water but on the contrary and to my surprise, it thrived. Well, as a human, I know that the rain won’t fix me but perhaps returning to the natural roots would. Or maybe I don’t need fixing. Maybe, a few bolts here and there need to be loosened or tightened but the apparatus is undamaged. However, that can be pretty hard to believe if you have been told the contrary for a while. But even the awareness of any externally imposed definitions to our being is one of the primary steps towards healing.
For most of my life, I have wished to be under a fresh sky. I should have asked myself how does the sky attain that freshness. How else would it cleanse itself if it were not for the rain to appear seasonally?
