Dear Rain,
It was nice to meet you again!
I had been away from you for a very long time until recently. It was one of those magnificent evenings where the expansive sky was lined by flocks of clouds, all covered in several hues of pink and orange and black silhouettes of trees and buildings. Your arrival seemed imminent, but I figured I had time for a little contemplative walk. I thought there was some time before I had to witness you wash over the pretty canvas. Now, please don’t get mad; it’s not that I was trying to avoid you or anything. I have maintained over the years that I really do relish your incoming.
I love how you make the surroundings look greener and cleaner. I love how you hit rhythmically over the roofs and roads. And I love how you invigorate our olfactory senses by wafting petrichor. It’s just that with time, I started experiencing your presence only from behind curtains and under protective sheds. I don’t know how but I had become cautious of you. It all happened gradually and unconsciously, I guess. I started enjoying the thunders and lightning from a distance for avoiding the risk of muddy shoes and a running nose.
Nevertheless, we met that evening, and I am so glad that we did. On the way back on my walk, you sneakily started pouring down. At first, I felt agitated and tried to cover my head and find places to hide from you. I was worrying about shoes and running nose again — also, hair and dresses and electronic devices. But then I looked around and realised that no matter how much I hurried, I would still be drenched when I took shelter. And so, I calmed down and slowed down. I let the drops trickle down through the hair strands of my head and hands. I let my eyes wander and see through the blur of your translucent wrapping. I gazed at the golden light post accentuating your spike-shaped and slanted traversal downwards. I continued walking until a concrete structure emerged nearby.
I waited for a while with strangers under the same roof. All of us glued our eyes to either of the two things — you or the mobile phone. Some desperately waited for you to stop pouring your heart out, and others were fine with as long as you took. I was neither here nor there because I was busy unravelling the swirls of my thoughts.
I tried to trace back to the time when I became weary of you. I remember defying my mother’s commands to play with droplets and the newly formed puddles as a child. I remember being reprimanded for it multiple times. I remember fighting to play with you. Then what happened? And when did it happen? How did I go from drenching in your presence to just watching you from a distance? Is this what growing up feels like? We cease to take delight in the activities and eccentricities of the past and childhood. And we don’t even know when our lives are inconspicuously ripped off of the lively and naïve ventures. How many of such activities had I left behind? I don’t know.
A deep melancholic feeling seeped through the course of my nerves. A kind of feeling that radiated both loss and gain. A feeling that carefully travelled through the contours of change without daring to plunge into it fully. A feeling that had the potential to birth a tornado of thought spirals.
In a vain attempt to relive the past, I outstretched my arm and let it get wet slowly. You were still pouring, irreverent of people’s desires to travel and walk. Your ignorance jerked my melancholic feelings and made me do something more than just outstretching my arm. I put my earphones back into my pocket, along with my phone, and set out to complete the rest of the walk.
My shoes did get muddy, my hair stuck together as if they would never part, and my clothes got a bit uncomfortable. I felt cold but free like it didn’t matter how you washed over me and others around. It didn’t matter if I sneezed or coughed a bit later.
What mattered was I relived an old experience and let the droplets trickle down through me, like trees and buildings and homeless cats and dogs. I knew it then that I wouldn’t do this as often as before, but I also knew that I could walk with you anytime I wanted and that maybe next time I wouldn’t run away from you. That my forgetfulness and growing up was no legit reason to not experience you or any forsaken activity in the whole wide world.
Dear Rain, although a bit uncomfortable and soaky, it was nice to meet you again!
