Angst and pain.
Happiness and gain.
I don't know why I like when it is going to rain. It feels pleasant inside. As if I was born to be with the rain. Entwined with all the memories of mine, it is. High and low, fast and slow - whenever I remember it, I feel. Feelings are so muted without them.
I was thirteen then. When it first rained for me. Through the grey clouds came the rain, drop by drop. I used to visit the terrace everyday then. There was an awning in our terrace those days - a flimsy piece of corrugated metal sheet to stay under if it rained. And in of those magical days, it got blown off by the Kalbaisakhi winds. I used to sit there till the clouds turned black. I used to sit there till the winds went howling against my ear. The light used to dim, and there used to be a sudden coolness everywhere. And then it rained. And I used to sit there until it ended and the rainbow came out. And sitting there, alone, I used to think. It didn't matter what I thought. There was a hidden joy in it. A subtle laughter. A suppresed cry. An emotion of fullness and emptiness at the same time.
I was fifteen then. When it next rained for me. As if the rains had come only for me. She was there then. Amongst those thick drops and thundering sounds. And she was just a few feet away from me. We were returning from a quiz competition. We had lost. But it didn't matter. Her glasses were getting foggy all the time. But still it went on raining. And then she got on the auto and waved her hand to me and went away. And again, I was alone. Wading through the waterlogged streets I came back. I don't why, but it struck me that this was not the last time it was going to rain just for me.
I am seventeen now. And it rained for me again. It was dark then and the lamps on the roads had lit up. I was sitting on the pavement when the drops started calling again. People began to run, fewer cars started plying and the dogs started barking. The silece was unbearable. And then the raindrops started screaming in my ear. And with the briny tears they flowed away, disguised. I got terribly wet. But it didn't matter. Atleast I didn't feel sad. Atleast I was not alone...
I was thirteen then. When it first rained for me. Through the grey clouds came the rain, drop by drop. I used to visit the terrace everyday then. There was an awning in our terrace those days - a flimsy piece of corrugated metal sheet to stay under if it rained. And in of those magical days, it got blown off by the Kalbaisakhi winds. I used to sit there till the clouds turned black. I used to sit there till the winds went howling against my ear. The light used to dim, and there used to be a sudden coolness everywhere. And then it rained. And I used to sit there until it ended and the rainbow came out. And sitting there, alone, I used to think. It didn't matter what I thought. There was a hidden joy in it. A subtle laughter. A suppresed cry. An emotion of fullness and emptiness at the same time.
I was fifteen then. When it next rained for me. As if the rains had come only for me. She was there then. Amongst those thick drops and thundering sounds. And she was just a few feet away from me. We were returning from a quiz competition. We had lost. But it didn't matter. Her glasses were getting foggy all the time. But still it went on raining. And then she got on the auto and waved her hand to me and went away. And again, I was alone. Wading through the waterlogged streets I came back. I don't why, but it struck me that this was not the last time it was going to rain just for me.
I am seventeen now. And it rained for me again. It was dark then and the lamps on the roads had lit up. I was sitting on the pavement when the drops started calling again. People began to run, fewer cars started plying and the dogs started barking. The silece was unbearable. And then the raindrops started screaming in my ear. And with the briny tears they flowed away, disguised. I got terribly wet. But it didn't matter. Atleast I didn't feel sad. Atleast I was not alone...
3 comments:
i am a rain-maniac myself... i'm telling you... i've immensely enjoyed reading this! this was too much man... totally awesome! do keep writing..
There is a certain pleasant feeling about Loneliness.
At least you don't have to think that somebody would, at last, Try to understand you.
But,we often forget that somebody Does.
Its your Self.
And it depends on what Being you tend to project this Self of yours.
It might be this Universe, or Nobody.
And it becomes topsy-turvy if you chose anything in between; -- it is then you feel that as if you are Incomplete.
There's something very haunting and fulfilling about Tears.
I've always felt that myself.
They are like Mother's Love.
-- PURE and always YOUR VERY OWN.
reading this post feels like getting wet in rain.....
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