It rained today.

It wasn’t a half-hearted, wishy-washy kind of rain. It didn’t seem as if it were reluctantly tethering at the edge of a colossal indecision wondering whether to let go or not- then deciding not to, after all. Today’s rain didn’t remind one of a parsimonious millionaire jealously hoarding his wealth, giving out a few coins while every bit of him screamed in resentment.

After over two weeks of soul-crushing humidity and intolerable temperatures, it rained heavily today.

There was no restraint about the rain. It threw it’s heart over the fence without hesitation, knowing its body would have no option but to follow. There was no holding back; there was no parsimonious hoarding. Today when it rained, it simply RAINED. All stops pulled, so to speak. It is still raining, as I write.

If we come from the water, I conclude that we come from different kinds of it. I will meet a person and in his eyes see an ocean, deep and never ending; then I will meet another person and feel as though I have stepped into a shallow puddle on the street, there is nothing in it. Or maybe some of us come from the water, and some of us come from somewhere else; then it’s all a matter of finding those who are the same as us.

~ C. Joybell C.

You know how you wake up every morning scanning the sky eagerly wishing to see dark, fat clouds swollen with rain? Day after day when you see naught but some pale, smoky wisps that haven’t the gumption to hold a teaspoon of water in them, your heart breaks. You sigh and prepare for another crushing day that makes you breathless- so heavy is the air.

After enduring an eternity of such daily betrayals, you decide not to hope for rain anymore.

“Oh, it thinks I can’t live without it, does it? Ha! I don’t care a fig for it! Now even if it rains, I’ll just ignore it. Who does it think it is!? It shall never matter to me now. Let the days be hot. Let them scorch me and sap my vitality with their laden, tepid air that makes me feel as if I were breathing in lava. I couldn’t care less about the whole thing. Bah!”

You stop scanning the skies every morning- while surreptitiously keeping an eye out for them. You pretend as if the heat and humidity were not bothering you at all. You are more than usually cheerful and your cheer as genuine as tinsel. You march on, heedless. You are pleased at how well you’ve managed the situation. You are impressed by your own strong-will. You said you won’t let it matter and by gawd you’ve done it! Wooo hoooo!

Which might have worked fine, but for a tiny snag. Imagine this-

Lunch is just about to get ready. You’ve been toiling in the kitchen (pretending it isn’t stifling hot). While the dishes get cooked, you step out of the kitchen into the spacious veranda for a breath of marginally cooler air. You open the door leading from the kitchen to the (hopefully) cool air without. You step into another world… or so it seems.

Without so much as a warning whisper, huge charcoal clouds had swum silently across the barren skies, hanging ponderously low. While you were struggling to breathe in the torrid air of the kitchen, wiping your dripping brow on already sodden sleeves, the stage was being set to take your breath away.

You open the door to witness a veritable feast in progress. You gasp in shock, too surprised to hitch your pretended indifference into place. The rain, pounded to fine mist, floats up your nostrils. One whiff and you’re drunk; you’re undone, alas!

You see before you a stunning spectacle. Big, fat drops of cold water are pelting down; chasing, sliding, bumping over each other in their eagerness to come first. The rain slants into the veranda intimately, its floor wet with roiling pools of rain-water.

In one drop of water are found all the secrets of all the oceans; in one aspect of You are found all the aspects of existence.

~ Kahlil Gibran

For the first time in nearly three decades of being-a-good-example-to-the-kids combined with Oh-how-can-I-do-something-as-childish-as-getting-drenched-in-the-rain with more than a suspicion of  I-don’t-wan-to-catch-a-cold, you walk to that corner of the veranda which allows the rain to stream in straight from the sky above. Mesmerized, you raise your face to that laden sky. The fragrant, cold rain slides down your face, neck and shoulders soaking your clothes (and soul) with bliss.

Your skin feels as a hot girddle on which a few drops of water have been sprinkled. You can almost hear the sizzle. That’s when you go mad.

Having tasted the sweetness, nothing would do but for you to jump into the pool wholly. You fling open the terrace doors over to the front of the house and step out into the deluge, entranced. In seconds you are drenched to the core. The rain washes over you with a completeness you had forgotten. You taste the cool water gratefully with your skin, nose and tongue; experience it with your eyes and ears. You take long gulping breaths, slaking a parched soul.

 You’re drenched; every bit of you.

Picture Mine.
Picture Mine.

Note: As you let the rain slake you, this ghazal plays in your head, on a loop. You wonder what drenches you- the rain within or without.