Sitting on the pillion seat, looking up at the trees and sky, the leaves and branches forming a jigsaw puzzle, the white light falling through the crack-lines. The crown-shyness blushing beautifully between greenery. A lovely beautiful day. Oh a drop.
I have loved rains, thunderstorms and sandstorms, sometimes standing right in the center of it, facing towards this invisible force of nature, something almost magical takes over my body (adrenaline, perhaps) and I want to scream out loud into this powerful force. Run against it and with it, and chase it.
Drop by drop, memories fall on me, as I reach for the warm and wet experience of being a part of monsoon rains.
Memories of making paper-boats and floating them on the clogged street water puddles and seeing how far Archimedes shall take me. And playing with neighborhood kid friend.
Hot bread pakodas, aloo and onion pakodas, memories of my grandfather buying us some bhajji in monsoon with the green chutney served on paper plate wet from rain, comes back. Nostalgic, of how I developed some affection for pakodas because grandfather was a chat-food-lover. I miss him.
Monsoon brings out memories of yearly summer vacation spent in Rajasthan, me, my brother and many cousins being thrilled and getting stuck.
Of me and my brother showering in the rain. Of me feeling huge disappointment for changing from my new clothes to old clothes to shower and the rain stopping as soon I stepped out.
A beautiful photo of my mom carrying an umbrella to buy bread from the confectionery store opposite to our house.
Marvelling at the slantness, the hails that fall from the sky, being pelted by the forces of nature. Hearing them hit the metal body of cars.
Of experiencing deep sadness, washing over me, grieving deaths of lost loved ones.
There’s a dialogue from this serial, I followed religiously as a child called – “Bade Acche Lagte Hain”, there’s an episode where the characters are finding hard to confess their true feelings to each other, and there’s thunderstorm outside, it goes something like: “Toofan kuch leke jaata hai, toh kuch deke bhi jaata hai” (The stormy rain do destroy things, but they also give life back to some)
And it has stayed with me, every time, I am stuck in one. I know someone somewhere deeply needed this. Poem disclaimer: Highly visual.
I wrote a poem for GloPoWriMo on Clouds:
Couldn’t hold it anymore,
came out spilling onto the floor,
seeping dark into the denim pants,
coursing through the pavement and sands,tried really hard to hold that fart,
tummy rumbled loud,
flashing through the darkness,
to find just the right spot,finally came the sweet sweet release,
Sat down and let it all go,
oh what a wonderful pour!
Hit-me-up-for-rainy-pakodas,
your-next-door-blogger,
Calra
Leave a Reply