Monsoon Memories
The monsoon rains never felt as joyous as when the puddles of rain water began to make it’s splash. The splashing sound could be heard from every corner of the alley ways. Little children laughing and playing while getting drained on by the ongoing rain. But the fresh scent of the rain that the monsoon’s carried left the children with great excitement and awe. Childhood never felt this promising and full of excitement. I watched the little children play in the rain with wide smiles on their faces that for some reason left me smiling unknowingly. Without haste, I thought back to my childhood memories when the monsoon season was endless and filled with possibilities. I thought back to a childhood memory when my mother would worry that I would get sick from playing in the rain with my friends and wished that I would stay home. She would say “Noor, you shouldn’t play when it’s raining, you will get sick.” I thought to myself that my mother was worrying too much for no reason but I knew she cared for me like every mother would of her child. I replied “Mom, its more fun playing in the rain.” My mother still not happy that I was out in the pouring rain finally gave in. It was exhilarating to play with my friends in the rain. It brought smiles and laughter in our faces. Something about getting drained on by the pouring rain while chasing your friends was a pass-time I enjoyed the most. Ultimately, my mother was right and I would come home drained with endless sneezing and wheezing.
Somehow these monsoon memories brought great joy and made me think about my childhood and most importantly the precious memories that it brought. “Noor, I told you that you will get sick.” my mother said in a hasty tone. I promised my mother that I wouldn’t do anything that would make her worry much. She then smiled. My mother had boiled hot milk and gave me a cup to drink and offered a blanket so I wouldn’t feel cold and get sick. The comfort of my mother’s love reassured me that I was the luckiest child in the world. Even though my brother had the same equal love. My brother Imran who was two years older then me, was wise beyond his age but knew how to carry himself well. He was intelligent and different from the other boys in our neighborhood. What I liked about my brother was that he was accepting of anything and was always keen on being grounded and good at heart. At times I would trouble my brother for the fun of it. When he did get angry, I would hide behind my father and still my brother would catch me and pull my ears. My father would say “Noor you are a girl, you shouldn’t trouble your brother so much.” My father was a quiet person by nature and understanding at the same time. He was fond of reading and story-telling. I always loved hearing my father tell me stories of his childhood and stories he would create instantly with his vivid imagination. All of my childhood innocence seems to be bonded with endless monsoon rains and the memories of the carefree youthful days spent with my family and friends. “Noor, Noor, Noor you there?” says my husband. I snap back to reality and the rain had finally rested and the children playing in the pouring rain were no longer there. I close the window and now my childhood memories.
