Rain: Return Of An Old Friend

When it used to rain before, we would not know. We lived in a concrete building and if we were inside our rooms with the curtains pulled down on the windows we would not know when it rained. So, most of the times the clothes hung outside to dry would have to wait a long while getting soaked all over again. And we missed several opportunities of playing in the rain because we would not be able to hear it fall. The paper boats were saved from drowning in the make-believe river of the backyard drain, sailing through a heavy stormy weather. The dry and recently washed clothes we worn would take a heavy sigh of relief every time we missed the rain. Having been soaked for hours in cold/hot water then being beaten about on the cemented floor and hung out to dry, they favoured being warm in the closet and feared being worn by us. They dreaded the moment someone opened the closet, praying hard they were not picked. Some had tough luck, becoming our favourites, we would wear them umpteen times till they turned pale and their threads came loose. They had to undergo stitches several times and would always end up getting dirt-faced. They feared rain the most and so it was a matter of great relief when we missed the rain. They hated being damp and wet.

Then we moved to a tin-roofed house and even a slight drizzle would alarm us. We were out and about in an instant gauging the rain and if it wasn’t too heavy we would leave the clothes be. If it rained heavy, we would free them from the clutches of the clips and gather them all inside. In a really heavy downpour most of the clothes would end up getting wet no matter how quick we were. We would in turn get wet as well. It would not stop us from venturing out onto the verandah to feel the rain fall on our palms and if we were game enough, we would get all soaked, dancing in the rain. Sometimes in our excitement we would forget about the slices of radish or pieces of amla left to dry atop the roof and they would spitefully turn out to be not-so-good achaar once they were dried up, spiced up and bottled up.

However, for most part they were all happy, the clothes and everything else since we lived under a tin-roof. The problem was with us because we would start thinking it was raining on hearing the slightest of sounds resembling the rain.

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We did not resist the rain then. We took it as it came. No great surprise or worry succeeded it. Then the inevitable happened. We all grew up and the excitement of the rain slowly faded away with the years we added to our lives. We ran from the rain most of the times – running for a dry shelter and even if the shelter was long way away and we were bound to get wet, we'd still keep running, shielding ourselves with a notebook or a plastic bag or even a handkerchief! Oh! We really didn’t like the rain I guess. At least that was what the rain felt, who had just dropped by to give us a childhood greeting. But we were growing up or already grown up and forgot about our childhood friend.

Years later when most things had changed and I yearned for something old and something familiar, something to help me retain or regain the lost days of the yore, I found I had lost most of it to the heat of life. Pretty soon I realized I had lost so much more than a few rainy days or fun-plays in the sun. Then in the evening of a rather warm day it rained, first slow then heavily. I did not resist it. I soaked myself in it, reveling in the memories of all the days lost and gone, shedding tears for all those lost and gone and smiling in the return of a childhood friend who gave me warmth in his wet embrace. I do not resist the rain anymore.

When I Met An Old Friend

To meet an old friend is always a pleasure, especially when you have gone through a lot in life with the same person. They have seen you in your good times and your worst as well. They have been there for you and you have been there for them. So, a meeting with such a friend is always a heartening experience to say the least.

Today I met with a dear friend who has been through a lot in life much as I have been in mine and have seen each other in our worse of times. Today too is no better a time in our lives. I have my own set of problems and he has his. And we are at an age where most of our counterparts have already found their footings and are excelling at whatever they are doing. Our trials have been tough. Our success minimal. At the end too much time invested with too little outcome/success to account for while time keeps a tab of the passing years on our faces and greying hair on our scalps.

The sense of responsibility never leaves our minds. And this is one reason why there has not been much of a risk taken by him on his part. He had trodden carefully and calculatingly. Somehow in his own words, the ‘bad luck’ phase of his life still seems to be continuing. For most part, things look promising and all efforts are in place from his side but some other things which are completely out of his control puts an end to his dreams.

Even though I too feel the sense of responsibility I have taken decisions more freely and taken a lot of risks being the ‘child’ in the family. A doting elder brother and an always supportive elder sister eased my risky ways. The problem now is the fact that I have not been able to turn the career risks I have taken into anything worthwhile. I am still in this phase but what gives, even if a little solace is that I have been doing some of the things I greatly enjoyed doing. The thing is I could have done them without playing the ‘Brave-heart’ ( or fool-heart??!).

There are thoughts and ideas running in both our heads. We can talk about how to do those things. We can talk about how it can be executed and what all formalities or procedure we need to follow. The problem, however is if at all it will work out and will we be able to take any more chances now? I can see him achieving what he dreams of. He has always been a hard-working guy with his head placed firmly on his shoulders. He just needs the right time and there will be no stopping him. I am, like always, doubtful of myself and my big ideas. Let’s see how things go for both of us.

Fighting The Cold And Dampened Spirit

Everything seems cold and damp here. Most things are cold and damp here. The walls are damp and cold, the splash of rain it faces all day long. The clothes hanging on the hangers and those inside bags and in the closets are cold to touch and feel wet no matter how dry they are. The books, the papers and the notepads are not crisp to touch anymore. Even the slightest of touch leave a deep impression. How sensitive they have become! The chill in the air can be felt at any time of the day. The nights are much colder if spent without the shield of the blankets. The mornings are an exercise in tolerance. The ‘freezing’ water test the endurance of the warm-blooded human being. The afternoons are sunless and gloomy for most part with dark clouds hovering in the sky threatening to come falling down at the slightest agitation. The evenings are clear and breezy. But the cold wind leave so less to be enjoyed of the fine evening walks. In such a cold and damp weather, the spirits are bound to be dampened as well. But if you have a fighting spirit nothing can really dampen it at all. I guess I am carrying a little sunshine from a hot and humid land afar.