Alert: Yet Another Rain Post

The writing is on the window-panes.

It is transient, and the heart roughly inscribed on the vapour created by the sudden, heavy showers of rain will soon be borne away by the wind- very like the sea sweeping into the bay with a flourish and dragging sand-castles and toe-inscribed protestations of eternal love away in one large wave. It's inevitable- and therefore, or despite, the impermanence of it all, strangely fascinating.

I made a quick stop at the supermarket (with partner-in-crime Airborne) for a much-needed replenishment of sunscreen lotion and potato chips. Yes, summer is back (or so I was given to thinking till a little while ago). A quick rummage at Strand yielded a copy of Vanity Fair, a book I've long had my eye on. I detest 'Now a major motion picture' covers, but it was a decent bargain and so I put my intolerance temporarily away to accommodate a sly-looking Reese Witherspoon (?) on my bookshelf. Said bag of potato chips more or less equally shared and steaming tasteless coffee dispensed with, all I looked forward to was getting home to my cosy couch, cushion behind my back, book in hand, the aural assault of the vuvuzelas (call me weird, but I don't really mind the din- it is reassuring in a way) and possibly another upset in the tournament.

And of course all hell broke loose. The rain made up its mind to wreck my best pair of footwear and seep into the pages of the books I was carefully guarding in my bag. Airborne led the scrum for umbrellas and we managed to get away in decent time as the campus turned into an impromptu Bollywood rain-scene depiction.

Walking in the rain can be a tricky proposition. You don't try to avoid puddles- the most incorrigible dreamer cannot think of it on Indian roads- you only step nimbly and dance your way into and out of the most shallow and least debris-filled ones, clutch at the nearest elbow in sight and poke people's eyes out with your umbrella. You slosh through ankle-deep water (and this is in well-paved areas) and turn a blind eye to leeches, frogs and floating sticks and turds. This planet is big enough to hold us all. The slush spatters the clothes worn with bachelor-ly pride in the morning, putting paid to any lingering, unhygienic ideas of re-use. It sticks to freshly-cleaned shoes and vehicles. You learn balancing acts worthy of Anna Pavlova.

Have I turned into a rain-sceptic? Of course not! The rains have barely arrived, and it's time to chuck the sunscreen lotion back into my bag and think of graffiti to inscribe on the window-panes. Make me a rain-curtain, and you shall have half my kingdom. When I have one, that is.

Rain on the Expressway

A strong gust of wind blows a fine spray of rain into my rapidly cooling coffee. People break into a run past me and unfurl umbrellas as the drops begin to fall faster and harder, drumming out a staccato on helplessly flailing leaves. I walk steadily on, bareheaded; I want to feel the rain. A Cappuccino can be easily bought anytime; the fragrance of moist earth and the numbing sting of a heavily-falling raindrop cannot.

The bus drives out as sheets of rain sweep the freshly tarred roads; I wipe the vapour off the glass and create myself a little window to the world. Is there dust on my palm? I don’t give it much thought and the hand sanitiser stays in my bag for a change. The tiny restaurants by the road lose the relative normalcy of daylight and take on the semblance of nondescript roadside shacks (populated by burly, moustachioed truck drivers drinking glasses of steaming tea, if you choose to imagine them into your fancies as well) that materialise amidst nothingness on mostly deserted highways. On the curving expressway, high above the sprawling city, a smattering of water-smudged lights appears in the distance. Sudden flashes of lightning streak the brooding sky and startle decrepit dark buildings into momentary life. A tube light flickers on half-heartedly inside the bus, like the watery smile on the face of one trying to tell a lie while doubting its efficacy.

The rain slows down, comes to a complete halt- and when the bus takes a turn off the expressway, nothing remains but the sweeping curves traced on the dust of the window-pane by impatient fingers- yes, there was dust on it, and I look hesitantly at my hand. The road is bone-dry but for a few slushy puddles and water collected in some crevices, like memories left over from a well-remembered past. The romantic fancies evaporate rapidly, too- the warm lights of cosy homes dispel curious thoughts of adventure and mystery with consummate ease- the illusions of overworked minds craving for a few hours of solace.

Nature, though, continues to contrive her spells, leaving us blissfully ignorant of her machinations as we sleep the tiredness out.

Eyes to the Sky

Sing to me tonight.

Bring me the songs you stole from the sea; ask the wind to carry you hither. Give me the solace I seek from your music, fill the air with your wondrous voice, let no one question the futility of your arrival.

Don't, in a fit of misplaced perversity, wander away to those fertile coasts where no one cares for you. It is this starved desert that needs you and pines for you. There are no sentinels you need to hide from- come in majestically, full of pride and noble intentions. Let the earth open her arms to your gift and touch all creation with her fragrance. Wash away those layers of filth and black dust. Allow the flowers and the birds to drink in your mirth. Make everything clean and pure once again.

I see the silver lining, and I know you're here.

The best way to top off a day that I thought couldn't get any better- beautiful rain, spattering against the window-panes, the spray in my face, the wind in my clothes and my hair. Relentless, reassuring.

A Parting

The purple clouds have gathered unobtrusively, yet again. They are in a state of indecision, you know that split second when they are trying to make up their minds, Shall we stay or leave? A group decision- and now they're done, and I'm glad they have decided to stay. Very softly the rain starts. A gentle, merry tinkle against the glass; a slanting stroke, then vertical, and then anyhow. Lightning flashes, thunder growls through the clouds, the wind blows in through the open windows, sending the pamphlets from the Expo flying across the hall. I won't be able to see the reflections of distant aeroplanes on the smooth floor today. Indeed, it is delightful when a plane flies by, high, so high, and you see it as a tiny speck moving across the floor.

While I have been romanticising thus, the rainwater has come in through the open window. Oh, bother! I am not going to get up and close it now. The rain that had fallen so heavily a quarter of an hour ago, wrapping everything in white, is slowing down to a drizzle. The clouds are not quite spent, the thunder and the lightning still linger; probably, the clouds have another appointment to keep.

In the midst of this sublime manifestation of bliss and delight, just one thought creeps in to tone it down and keep me mindful of reality- in an hour, I shall have to be up and start getting ready for work. Patches of blue, very faintly tinged with pink, are becoming visible in the sky. Yes, the clouds are parting, reminding me that the brief meeting has come to an end; the briefer these moments, the sweeter they will be. No tearful goodbyes, no hysterical promises, but just quiet, strong, faithful assurance.

A Rainy Morning

It rained heavily this morning. Cats and dogs? Now there's an understatement.

So, the rain fell as if the blue heavens were hell-bent upon dispelling the heavy, grey clouds from their tranquil kingdom. The clouds surrendered meekly, but turned their fury upon the earth, disrupting 'normal life' in the process. Why does it always rain when people are going to school or to work?

At the bus-stop, a 'colleague' (the quotes shall remain until I can get used to the word) told me that the bus might be late; that it often happened on rainy days. Now that isn't good news on a morning when you're hoping to get to office as soon as you can(!) so you can finish a report. Thankfully, he was about as accurate as a meteorologist on TV, and the bus arrived on time. Getting in was an ordeal; the umbrella, in an inevitable accident as I closed it, dripped its water all over me, soaking my neatly ironed dress. Cotton is a bad choice for wet days. (Not that I didn't know it; some people refuse to learn from experience.)

I was in deep danger of falling out of love with the rain. What with ankles soaked in debris-filled rainwater swirling through the pits and pockmarks of a road that had probably never seen smooth days, drenched clothes, and a report to finish, I wasn't exactly in a sunny mood. This is me we're talking about, though, and an old friend. Sense prevailed soon enough, and I began to enjoy the bus ride through the rain, never mind that I was still struggling with my umbrella and my heavy handbag. However, I missed the sight of rich, fertile hills veiled by misty clouds. The landscape here is relatively barren, rocky and plain. The wiper swept across the windshield, forming arcs even as the drops fell forcefully against the glass.

And what do you know? By mid-morning, all was bright and happy in the kingdom high up there, not exactly cheerless down here...and I used my umbrella to keep the sun from my face. You would never have known that the morning had been wet and uncomfortable, that the rain had looked like it would never stop.

A wet morning tomorrow wouldn't be unwelcome. I think I can already smell rain in the air.

Summer Rain

Beautiful rain! The sky burst open unexpectedly this afternoon, sheets of rain falling from layers of white clouds, cascading down walls, forming swirling muddy rivulets and short-lived bubbles on tar and concrete. It fell noisily for a quarter of an hour, then slowing to a swish, and finally all that remained was a distant, indiscernible gurgle of rainwater through pipes. The tantalising, cold rain washed away months of summer dust from the scraggly bushes on the hill and turned the exposed rock a damp brownish-purple. The lone hibiscus on top of the bush by the wall, protected by its height from human assault, blushed and bowed as the rain caressed and pricked it. The wind, bearing the fresh fragrance of spores newly released from the earth, tore yellow leaves and dried-up flowers away from the plants, and they now lie strewn on the road, to be scrunched up under careless human feet and release their own overpowering scents. A cigarette stub and a blue ribbon of cloth lie among the other debris of the summer rain. For once, people have forgotten their indifference to the rain and actually come out to enjoy it; the sun has bothered us enough, let the rain take over.

The sky is now clear, the new blue is turning amber, and the sun is lazily nestling among golden folds of cloud, ready to retire to bed. The rain is a distant memory, lingering only in the nip of the water-kissed wind stirring ever so softly, and in the damp patches on the road. What will tomorrow bring?

Blissfully Troubled

A word of caution: You'll be happy to skip this piece if you are sick of my perpetual talk about the rain, or if you are allergic to cribbing students.

There are moments when Data Mining scares me no end- if it was Artificial Intelligence last semester, Data Mining definitely takes the cake this time. It doesn’t exactly go over my head, but it’s not great fun either. I suppose the authors worked on the textbook when they were depressed with life and desperately needed some publicity; or when they had a bad toothache. It goes from comprehensible to complicated, and finally becomes totally incoherent. I’m probably exaggerating; I understand most parts of the book, but it’s the remembering part I detest. There seems to be very little application, it’s theory all through, and all new. Now you know what I mean by ‘new’ if you are or have been a ‘normal’ engineering student.

I believe in leaving trouble alone until it actually comes to haunt me; so I’ve decided not to get nervous till the exams actually begin. And I have the perfect thing to bolster my spirits- you know it- the rain. A couple of days ago, I reread my favourite part from Ruskin Bond’s Book of Nature- the chapter ‘Rain’. Can anybody ever describe the sensations the first cleansing showers evoke so beautifully? Bond talks of how the rain can get tiresome if it goes on and on. Now that is something I’m yet to experience, but if and when I do, I’ll surely let you know.

The skies are high and dark, the wind is crisp and strong, and I like the way it blows the stinging, electrifying raindrops in my face. A cool, sensuous rain- I have parted the curtains in my room so I can hear it talk to me and feel the damp. I just hope this bliss lasts for atleast two more days.

Nature feels like a beautiful prayer tonight.

A Pleasant, Rainy Monday

Not all Monday mornings are gloomy. This one, for instance.

I went to bed last night in a good mood, thrilled with the Ferrari victory (no matter they didn’t have a 1-2 finish; they’re atleast back where they belong) at the Malaysian GP. Consequently, I woke up in the morning in a comfortable frame of mind, no thoughts of college to bother me, no puzzling questions lying at rest all night and trying to surface now through the morning haze. Surely, everybody knows that feeling, when you go to bed before a big day with your mind in a state of turmoil or excitement, and when you wake up in the morning, you are immediately besieged by the thought that you are supposed to be worried or excited about something, but can’t figure out what it is.

As I pattered into the hall, the air felt slightly different, even in that closed room. It pulsed with invigorating energy, and as I peeked out of the window, a little idea taking root in my mind, my suspicions were confirmed. The bushes by the compound wall swayed in a delirious dance of their own as a new, fresh, rain-scented breeze rippled through their branches. The rain that had been promised me a couple of days ago was here at last.

The clouds, in their annoyingly familiar habit, had sneaked in at night, when I was oblivious of them, cocooned in the stifling comfort of my bedroom. The first shower of rain is always the most exciting, as it arrives after much joyous anticipation; almost invariably at night, when all the world is asleep. So it was last night, then, after a partly cloudy evening, but nothing very threatening. I could see the signs of rain on the wet concrete floor. There were more flowers strewn beneath the bushes than on a normal morning, and the sky was heavier than usual, even at this usually dark hour before sunrise. The gentle scented breeze definitely held the promise of rain.

About an hour later, the rain came with full force. Normally loath to do errands, I went out this morning to buy the newspapers, a very short walk from home. I clutched my umbrella in joy, feeling the rain drum against its top with a steadily rising tempo. Only an occasional bike passed me, and there were no pedestrians on the road. By the time I reached the shop, hopping over the puddles (some purplish pink, the after-effects of Holi) that had formed in the imperceptible depressions that exist even on a good, level road, the hem of my skirt was wet. And I was enjoying every moment of it. I looked up at the hill as I walked back home, intoxicated by the mingled fragrances of damp soil and fresh newsprint. It was wrapped in its own misty reverie, kissed by the moist, rain-laden clouds.

A little while later, the narrow lane was chock-a-block with people, autorickshaws and cars. An exam was to be held in the school next door, and the umbrellas and raincoats (and some plastic sheets) were out. More than last-minute revision, the students were concentrating on getting to school dry. Heavy raindrops thundered mercilessly on a black Skoda parked across the street. Where on earth was the owner?

As I write, the exam is finishing, and the horns are blaring again. I hear engines sputtering to a start, and the relieved murmur of voices released from a three-hour detention. The students would probably like to feel the cold drops sting their skin now, after having cursed it in the morning for all the trouble it must have caused them.

Thankfully, the rain goes on.

In Love with the Rain

I somehow never seem to get tired of watching the rain, and thinking and writing about it. Words seem to take shape in my head as I watch and feel the rain and beauty in other forms accompanying it, invigorating and inspiring me.

This evening, the clouds gathered suddenly, a thick whitish-grey layer. They did not seem threatening, they did not crown the hilltop but seemed rather high and distant. As I leant out of the balcony, the alternately warm and cool breeze brushed past my face and through my hair, and seemed to say something to me, speak only to me. The wind and I were one, whispering secrets, communicating in a language imperceptible to the rest of the world. Boys laughed across the road, a mother lay against her daughter’s lap at the door of their house, a woman ironed clothes at her stall, all unaware- the wind was talking only to me. And then the rain joined in.

At first, as if unsure of its course and its destination, the rain fell hesitantly. Then, perhaps emboldened by the presence of people coming out to cheer its arrival, the rain fell faster and rhythmically. On it fell for a quarter of an hour, light raindrops dancing in the wind; yellow leaves drifted one at a time from the tree by the roadside, settling on the moist mud and the damp concrete after being serenaded by the raindrops.

The wind and the rain were no longer my own. There were people around, watching with interest, and as more men and women and children came out to be caressed by the moisture-soaked breeze and feel the soft, sometimes stinging, raindrops on their hands and heads, the spell seemed to have broken. I retreated to the door, to watch the rain in privacy. Two little sisters twirled around in the rain, arms outstretched, escaping from their father’s grasp as he tried to drag them into a sheltered corner. I was no longer the sole confidante of the rain and the wind.

The rain and the wind belong to everybody. But we still have our secrets…