Was it that the sky cried because I did not? It let go because I could not? It thundered because I stayed silent? Perhaps.
Age cracked in the blues up above and let out a howl of freedom, choosing childhood. I let go. The cold droplets traced my cheeks as I stopped amidst my shelter hunt, awakening something deep inside my chest. The rain penetrated through my skin and ran in the blood, screaming to me— you are alive.
The birds circled overhead singing tales unspoken, and rustling leaves whispered the desires of my mind. The pink chrysanthemums in my garden tossed their heads in the breeze as if dancing to the cues of rain.
Silently, my feet synced with the rhythm of the fall hitting the ground. Humming softly, I turned on my heels swiftly. Somewhere distant in the stretches of my mind, a sitar played faintly, the raaga changing from amrutvarshini to malhar.
As kids, rain was an invitation to a playdate with nature. As adults, we started dodging puddles. When did it become a burden? Perhaps when the paper boats sailed off and never returned. When unknowingly we ran after them for the last time. That ship sailed.
Let me reintroduce you to rain, through the eyes of an adult. It’s an emotion. Multiple emotions, honestly. Let’s plunge into the puddles with rain!
Pearls of love:
I did not care that it had started drizzling, or that a single raindrop had settled like a pearl on his cheek. A shiver went down my spine, not because the cold winds slapped into my face but because I could clearly see reflected into his eyes the glassy pearls that slid down my face. I didn’t realize when it started pouring, but I was drowning. And I didn’t need saving. Like water seeping through cracks in the earth, his smile found paths leading to my racing heart and engulfed me. And then, without warning, like the water falling, he fell to his knees and held out a bright red rose.
The bolt of bravery:
A bright flash filled the skies as the lightning struck. The kind of light that seemed to emanate from his face. The war wasn’t going to cease in the wake of the storm. He had been brought up a warrior, like the strong waves that rode the ocean, and he didn’t plan on dying today. The storm emerged from him and hurled at the enemy. The rain pelted and washed them clean of dirt and blood, but not of courage.
Showers of a miracle:
A single drop fell from the heavens on the parched ground and vanished into the vapors. Then another slid down my neck, a sending a chill down my spine. Within a flash of a second, it showered and I cupped a few drops in my hand, staring at it. Hundreds of astonished cries filled the air, every creature overwhelmed by the wonder. Yesterday, a place on the brink of death brought upon by drought was now ringing with laughter and tears of surprise. Kids danced in muddy pools, birds raced through the sky and chirped happily, red and yellow flowers burst open and gossiped with the bees of the miracle. It showered delight.
The fall of grief:
The last petal fell away as I wept, crushing the stem of the flower. No one could see me crying, for the rain drowned my tears as it flowed down my face. I sat in the grass, my feet pressing down in the earth leaving fickle impressions of me, soon to be blown away, just like everything in life did. Like trust, sure to be whisked away in the winds. Every inch of me cried with the clouds, my heart aching from the unpredictable thunder of betrayal. As I grew up dodging puddles, I learnt that trust is a slippery friend, like those rocks during rain that throw you off when least expected.
Thunder of wrath:
Crack. A bright, white bolt of light cracked in the sky as the suppressed rage finally split my body and ran through every vein. I stormed out the house anyway, leaving him searching for unfound excuses. The fact that he had cheated on me and tried to deny it was like him refusing to accept that it ever rained when clearly the path was halfway underwater. As I waded across a particularly nasty puddle, the entirely of the situation poured onto me, like the freezing water that hit my head.
Downpour of fear:
The storm lashed down like the realms colliding, shaking the earth to its very core. Houses drowned away, boats sunk to the bottom of the ocean, the crops washed away in a stroke and cries of help pierced through the sky, engulfing the universe. It poured until the entire existence went under and nothing but dark, treacherous waves could be seen for miles. All that the water held was the fear in the air as slowly the screams began to fade.
Drenched in disgust:
Mud squelched between toes like something alive. Like those worms that floated to the surface of the earth as it clogged the pots. My insides squirmed as I stepped into an ankle-deep puddle of water with green slime floating atop. Disgusted, I stepped out and took off my shoes before they were ruined any further. I flinched as my toes accidently touched a slimy snail that had crept out of nowhere. I hadn’t realised it yet that the air stunk. Thanks to those insensible souls that threw garbage onto the open road. I just prayed to God that I don’t come across any overflowed drains on my way and hurried away.
Sprinkles of peace:
The breeze swept away the last sprays of cold. The air smelled of earth and fresh flowers. The leaves fluttered silently as the branches swung, bearing my weight. I continued to swing under the enormous oak, watching the bright blue up above. As I slid back and forth, the rainbow played with me, the branching acting like a veil, concealing the colors from my sight and then—peekaboo! I breathed in the peace, present in that moment and smiled to myself. With another breath I inhaled my cue to go inside the kitchen. A mandatory cup of tea.
As I enjoy my cup of tea, I ponder. Rain is both a wonderful and a terrible thing, what matters is which side we choose to look at. For one thing is certain, the wonderful side often sinks lower on the scale when we weigh the dangers. Isn’t it magnificent either way? Wicked beautiful.
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