Rain

The drizzle began as suddenly as a cat can blink her eye. It came in blobs. First, small and quiet and then fast and tap-tap-tap. The rain-wiper on my car did its best to shoo away droplets clung to the pane. The stockpile seemed unlimited. I decided to drive on! Soft music continued to cascade and fill my car. Outside countless sluices popped up from nowhere. Harried pedestrians and bitter bikers seemed busy negotiating their way through the water clogged six-way-lane. It is raining Monsoon in India’s capital city and everyone and his neighbor is caught in the downpour. The country may be riding fast on the high horse of development and affluence but at the blink of our cat’s eyelid, the real state of our rueful infrastructure shows up. Chinks in the Armour, as they say!

[The beauty of nature's glower]

However --nothing can take away from me my love for rains. Not the bad roads, maddening muggy evenings with power outages and a million mutinies, as the ever-acerbic Naipaul calls us. The sound of rain on trees, lampposts and lushes across the sidewalks continue to fascinate me. I try to make some sense out of the gentle pummeling of silvery driblets on my car-pane. Upon streams. On dark evenings. I love the hurriedness about it. People trying to run for cover. How it – rains -- bring to life, the bleakest of hopes. I think anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain.

[Rain through the pane]

The 19th century American poet Henry Longfellow says the best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain. It is when the fleecy clouds can hold it no more. The weary earth drinks the drizzle. Rivers lap the rains. Old wells in the countryside stock the reserve. Flowers nod. Gazelles hop. Birds break into a song. Peaches blush. A little rain, I think, is an elixir. Into each life some rain must fall, Longfellow must agree in his mossy grave. Rain never disappoints. It rains on the dead, as much as on the un-dead. The unqueer and queer alike.

God, I may drift. I need to end it now.

Happy rains

Samy

A blue Evening

I’ll keep it short. A very good friend of mine, who works with me, tells me that I am harsh on myself. I often tend to be self-critical and can be pretty relentless at that. I think we need a bit of self-flagellation at times. It only helps us keep things in near perfect shapes and aligned to the shifting situations around.

I have another weird component in me. I dream a lot. It was one of those blue-tinted dreams last evening. I saw the stitching on my shirt change color from green to electrical. Or florescent, was it! The world’s most enchanting pair of eyes floated in front of me. Magical, seditious and adorable. Angel, Am I dead, I thought. This must be heaven!

I could hear the bells toll in my head. Suddenly the phosphorescent lights went off. As if one a cue, rains came. In showers. I didn’t want to take my eyes off the beautiful image in front of me, perched on the couch. Basking in the glow. There are two kinds of light - the glow that illumines, and the glare that shines. The face has both!

There are times when we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. They laugh with us on solitary evenings. They sit silent with us on noisy noons. Laugh along over un-scheduled dates.

Ah, the lovely laughter. The flowered remnants of which, go on long after I am awake.

And only I am not harsh on myslef, others too are!

samy