Baarish and Life

The first little drizzles of the season have arrived, bringing with them the characteristic grey shadows that cloak our little world. I've always loved wet weather, although my reasons for being so fond of the rain are ever-changing.

Rain in Bombay spelled the end of the unbearably hot and sticky summer months, so everyone welcomed the torrents of water that would fall from the skies every June. The rain would also turn the city's streets into waist-deep streams, and one would have to wade through them, hoping fervently that nothing questionable lurked in their murky depths. As children, we loved it. But as we grew older, it turned into a much-dreaded exercise, and by the end of it, we would be tired and chilled to the bone. There ended the charm of the monsoon rains, as far as Bombay was concerned. Someone who'd lived in the city long enough would appreciate the inexplicable beauty the flooded streets possessed when it rained. I happened to be one of them.

But it's so different here. The rain washes away months of dust and soothes frayed nerves caused by the oppressive summer heat. Both heaven and earth wear a look of such freshness, as if the water has sent new life coursing through their vast expanses. Everything around me is so vibrant, the colours are deep and speak of newfound energy, and the grey shadows cast by the overbearing clouds are a welcome shield from the harsh sun; not harbingers of gloom, as many people would say. The world around me, and every living creatue in it, seems alive, all of a sudden.

And I can almost feel them calling out to me, to join their joyous exultation, to be a part of Life itself. An enormous circle devoid of both beginning and end.

Static

It was yet another rainy day. Cold, bitter and cruel.

The dull, grey skies were of no interest to the thousands of people who crawled the earth below, each preoccupied with his own worries; his own joys; his own grief. Some worried about their futures. Some worried about their jobs. And some worried about the next day's meal.

I could hear shouting. Loud, harsh voices. Shoving, pushing carelessly, they made their way through the crowd to their destination. And there was chatter. Incessant, unnecessary chatter. A sea of voices, waiting to be heard; wanting to be understood. The cars behind us honked. The rain lashed the earth with renewed ferocity, the wind threatening to uproot the trees that lined the street.

But then, you were there. And for that split second, the rain, the people, the voices, the cars, all of them disappeared into oblivion, leaving behind a lull of calm. A whisper of silence.

For that brief moment when time stood still, we were us once again.

Let the rain fall down.

It's raining torrents. I can hear the loud claps of thunder and see the sharp, bright flashes of lightning, both in perfect symphony with the rain pouring from the sky. I can hear the howling wind, and although it sounds eerie enough to send shivers down my spine, I feel strangely drawn to this madness. I can feel the tangled web of emotions running high in seemingly empty space; I do not know their origin, or their purpose, or whether they have anything to do with the weather at all. Why is Nature's fury always such a thing of beauty? It's deliciously inviting. I want to stand still in the street outside and allow the torrents of water pouring from the skies to wash over me. I want to be rid of all emotion, all thought, all feeling. I want to be empty, like a deserted ruin, where the only living creatures that might want to inhabit such a place are wild, helpless beings, and where no soul may spot me; that is, see me as the pitiful human that I am. I want to be able to roam the earth freely, without apprehension or fear, discovering at my own pace, taking my own time to learn.

I want to break free from the endless basket of nagging worries that is slowly consuming my being even as I write this.

I just want to be. Just exist. That is all.