Imagine rain. Imagine water. Imagine life. Don’t they all come together hand in gloves, side by side, into your imagination? They do in mine.
First drop of rain is like the first moment of life pouring over the dry, arid land, parched in burning heat, marched past under the rugged, tough summer dust. First moment is like a rekindled hope of life when the end seems to reach near, almost at a hand’s distance. And everything starts anew – fresh.
Life is like that.
The moment you find it difficult to bear anymore and feel that in just another second you will lose yourself and succumb to the worldly threats – just hang about for that one more second, that one more bridge, and life would resurrect itself – a whole new world will appear. Don’t lose when it become obvious to lose, one more step and you might knock at your success.
Rain is like that.
In fact, rain seems to be an allegory to life, to me. And I love life. I love the fact that I am alive. I love my existence. For me, everything around me, starts with my existence, that is, I am very important to everything that assumes importance for me. And that is why I love rain. I love to stroll under the water falling slantingly from far above my head; I feel that the tiny drops are descending especially to rub against my skin – I bare myself as much as I could; I feel the intimacy of a virgin, I feel the boldness of a naïve, I feel the reluctance of a newly wed bride, I feel at ease, at peace with myself. I feel alive.
And when on bike, there remains no limit to my joy. I scale each pothole, filled with rainy water, going slowly over each of them. Once in a year, I praise Municipal Corporation for leaving, though unknowingly, so much pleasure on roads. Everything seems to in tandem, nothing is against anything. In order!
Yesterday it rained. The maiden rain of the year to the city, bestowed with lust (love?). I enjoyed like I did when I was very young, in school then, while retuning back home I used to miss my school bus to walk on feet all the way across those tiny canals overflowing with fresh, virgin water. Life was so simple then. It was me, and only me with my dreams and those potholes – cursed in summers, banqueted otherwise. Peripatetic, yet flying in every possible color!
These days, since I am grown up, I never walk, I run on my bike, taking up challenges of life, and kins, fighting their grievances spewed all over my existence, I become complex and weird. I never seem to enjoy life, never seem to live it, rather protect it, prove it all the time. But yesterday, I was given a moment of my past back to present.
Yesterday, I enjoyed the fact that I am alive and a child in me still lived. But I was alone.
Ye daulat bhi le lo, Ye shohrat bhi le lo,
Bhale cheen lo mujhse meri jawani,
Magar mujhko lauta do bachpan ka sawan,
Woh kagaz ki kishti, who barish ka paani…