Wrapped in my blanket like a crouched mummy, I hear the drops sputtering against the earth with an undeterred vengeance. In the background plays a beautiful Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan melody ‘Mere Rashke Qamar‘. It’s a Qawwali which serenades the lover by glorifying her beauty. The lyrics are insanely flirtatious, however, the way it has been sung is amazing. And the man himself needs no introduction. He is a legend.
Anyway, rains have a special place in my heart. I can’t imagine a noble human who doesn’t like rain. The fondness for rain comes with the gentleness of your character. If you save poor kittens from the sidewalks, you will definitely like rain.
I remember celebrating rain when I was a six year old kid. I would strip to my underpants, and jump out in the rain. I remember diving into every filthy ditch that was filled with rainwater. My mother would come running and pick me by my ears and talk about microorganisms and diarrhoea till I started crying. Then, once she went back to the kitchen, I’d dive again. Now that I recall those times, I’m astounded that I didn’t die of C. Coli contamination back then.
Then, I grew up and rains became acidic. Every lovemaking session with the torrents would leave my skin red and prickly. It was a gonorrhea to our romance. I stopped getting drenched and accepted the utility tools like umbrella and raincoat. It’s not as if I didn’t want to fling away that plastic apparel from my body, as if I didn’t want to extend a hand out of my umbrella’s ambit, but I was scared. Of all the things I wanted in my life, death was never one of them.
Then came adolescence. And oh God! Rain became the soul warming melody artificial strings can never create. It made me poetic. Every drizzle made me smile, every shower made me hopeful and every torrent made me passionate. I’d scribble and my words would turn gold. I’d dream and my visions would become art. I was in love, I was beyond the boundaries. Rain gave me wings.
And as it always follows, heartbreak was an essential phenomenon. Rains pushed the tears out of my lacrimal glands. No matter how happy or destroyed you are, the rain will always have a song for you. It helped me become a useless romantic, and I’m thankful.
Now I’m just an 18 year old guy with specific goals, so rain for me is a pleasant break from merciless brainstorming sessions. It does make me feel poetic, but not like the fierce, passionate lover I once was. Now I’m just an old poet, who has set aside his own selfish motives and is listening to gentle taps at his window ledge, with no bias and no expectation, only with a pleasant sense of satisfaction which comes with flushing out the desires.
And no, I haven’t become a Budhdhist monk. I still watch porn when it’s not raining.
That’s all for today.
A Happy Republic Day to we the Indians. Republic is a good thing to have, you know. Protect it like your own treasure.