The Rain Story

18th April, '09

I danced in the pouring rain tonight.

I remember running in the rain, with friends and green grass and grey skies. Three girls, celebrating their youth; We ran in circles, or large figures of eight, the exuberance of the rain doubled by the joy of being together. It was a freedom never felt before. A kinship I had never had. A moment shared by kindred souls.

I remember walking in the rain, bicycles half-drowned in the water-filled streets. Walking was not a choice anymore. School was just over and we had to get home through the flowing water. We strutted through the mud-filled streets, not half as embarrassed as we should have been, to be pushing our bicycles through water that came till our knees, in the pouring rain. Muck and filth were of no consequence, whatsoever. We were enjoying our little self-chosen adventure. It was only when we got home that we realised that we had collected a lot of our city's garbage in our soaking wet socks.

I remember chasing in the rain; Paper boats that my grandpa ungrudgingly made for me, being raced down the streets of my childhood, on our own little rivulets. Me and my friends, with only one goal in mind- keeping our boats afloat was more important than anything else to us. So we ran after them, with chappals and mud-splashed clothes, yelling, pushing, as fast as our little legs would carry us, part of the element in every sense. It was the age when one ran as fast as the boys one knew and fought just as hard. The freedom of one's childhood will rarely come again.

I remember musing in the rain. As I sat at my grandpa's old iron barred window, taking in the rhythm of the rain, the words came to me, as fast as the drops; A feeling, a surge in the lone dark room, filled my mind and I had to let it out on paper. And before the rain had stopped, I had written my first poem-

The rain the beautiful rain,
comes inside from the window pane,
it's only water wet and plain,
the rain, the beautiful rain.

A moment of such beauty, irreplaceable by any other, I had attained just then. I didn't know it then. But I know it now. And I will know it each time I am in the rain.

I danced in the pouring rain tonight.

Coming Alive

5th April, '09

I wake up suddenly, to the sound of the whistling wind outside my window. It is skimming through the trees, like spirits dancing on a full-moon night. I can hear the trees sighing, thankful for the respite from the summer's heat. I can see my backyard in my mind's eye, bathed in moonlight, leaves rustling, a piece of paper flying in circles, yesterday's clothes on the washing line, suddenly come alive. I tingle as I lie on my bed. I want to run out and embrace the wind, I want to be part of its madness. Suddenly, life feels lighter. All the dullness has been washed out of it. I feel one with the universe, I feel a warmth inside of me. Suddenly, I feel alive.

Saplings of Life

4th April, '09

I planted a few seeds in my new kitchen garden. Actually it's hardly a garden, just a little plastic box filled with mud, sitting next to the window so it can catch a few rays of sunlight. Yet when I woke up this morning and saw some tiny green saplings peeping out of the mud, I was overjoyed. I know now that they will grow into little plants that will help nourish my body and mind, a repayment much greater than the few drops of water I sprinkle them with each day. They give with no thought about whether I deserve their yield, whether I have worked for it. And I have not. I am just playing my tiny part in this whole cycle of life, I am the planter of seeds, nothing more, akin to the birds, the animals, that do it every day.

I will probably never have what they have, these saplings, but I hope to some day; this ability to give,without the expectation of anything in return, without once measuring whether the receiver deserves as much. Also, I hope to someday have their clarity of purpose, so imbibed into their existence that it demands no
thought, something that pervades their very being, they live to pass on their energy, either to another being, or just back into earth, from where they came.