Monday, November 24, 2008

And it Rained...

Clouds start to cover the sky with their dark, gloomy feathers, giving a darker shade of grey to the day. A creak here, a thunder there. Birds chirping across, seeming to make a sprint towards home. The flowers reflect whatever daylight there is left, like tiny glowing lamps switched on before the twilight. The zephyr shifts gears and gushes through the leaves, giving them an invitation to roam the earth with them. The roads clear up. Kids run to their homes. Markets start rolling up.

With a slight warning with sprays, heavens start pouring with all the unexpressed emotions pent up over the last few days.

The sky frowned and cries
And tears begins to fall down
Each drop cooled the ground.

And with each drop, heart brings back the memories. Memories, now found between the pages of that old textbook, that broken pen, that precious piece of paper, that old song which still stirs the strings of the heart. Memories. That paper boat. That broken umbrella. That music cassette. That conversation. That Bus. That seat.

looking back we will
and to relive memories,
we once had as friends.

My encounter with rain goes back to my primary days. A friendship of a lifetime was to be moulded. The rains. The long waits on the bus-stop. Those games we played. The pranks we pulled. The plans we made to conquer the world. Wreck havoc in class. Make the life of that bully miserable. The days went by trying to fly in the wind with the umbrella. The sketches of the teachers we made on the pages of the notebook. Pages long lost. But etched in the memory forever.
And then rain washed it all away. Just like the downpour had heralded it.

I feel so lonely.
A friend across the country
Memories left here.
And then it rained. Once again.

lonely rain and wind
awakened from restless dreams
your warm embrace missed.

The Days spent waiting for the class to end. The gates to be opened. That seat in the bus. And be mesmerized. Those cold sigh. Those difficult syllables shying away. Those Short walks to home. Those missed opportunities. Those surges of courage to speak. The laughter. The park. Those pestering kids who just would not learn to stay mum. The Wait. The moon covered in clouds. The wait. The pain. The wait.

Rain. It is these tiny drops of water that precipitate on our hearts and wash away the dust off the memories. Sitting by the window, as I look at these drenched leaves, it takes me to a different plane of dreams. Suddenly life seems so distant. With every falling drop, life seems to pass away to sepia, leaving behind a trail of memories. Memories which we can only chase. Never relive them again. Never touch them again. Like chasing the rainbow. Like rainbows.

Saturated clouds,
Thunder and lightning, boom, flash
Rainbows follow rain.

Rains. I hate it. I love it. I believe I cannot ever get away from the rains. No umbrella, no shelter can protect my heart from the rain.

In the words of Rabindranath Tagore from 'The Rainy Day':

Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the forest.
O child, do not go out!
The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads
against the dismal sky; the crows with their dragged wings are
silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river
is haunted by a deepening gloom.
Our cow is lowing loud, ties at the fence.
O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.
Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes
as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain-water is
running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who
has run away from his mother to tease her.
Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.
O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry is closed.
The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly rushing rain; the
water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home
early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.
The evening lamps must be made ready.
O child, do not go out!
The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is
slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo
branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.

And it rained. Making me chase the rainbow. Bringing back more memories.


  1. Hey Abheek. Really poetic. Your post will sure make the readers feel the real pleasure of the rain.

  2. Hey Chandy, thanks da. And am sure your photography will make the readers sit up, shut their umbrellas and go out to feel the rain drenching their souls.