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When you have an idea to begin something, till the right words come by you have to wait. Wait for the correct combination to take place, give some time for the idea to ripe.

Just like a complex recipe, you know what you want to make how to make it and have all the ingredients but have to let them marinate, simmer, and cook in the right way. Then the result is a perfect dish; Ready to be served.

This little piece of something was cooked, I mean written in similar way. I had to wait for many things to fall in right place. Now is the outcome presented before you, I hope you will enjoy this new flavor!

An almost perfect wedding, a tall beauty in short white wedding rob followed by a veil, like a patch of shiny little stars knitted in long threads. The bride is accompanied by a rather short, funny, and a bit messy groom in black. The two look happy. However, this is not my point; this was only a part of the album. The rain comes towards the end, when the wedding party is on. Merry people, they are dancing and laughing, drinking and dancing. On a table there is a cake. The couple comes and cuts it. And there comes the rain. Wraps everything around. All is drenched; water pouring from everywhere. What a beautiful chaos!

…..and then the funeral; the flawless beauty, quiet and still laying peacefully in a coffin. Friends and family are in deep grief. Just as the priest starts to say the last prayers, it starts raining again, once again. The husband looks at the sky helplessly, once a wedding rain today it’s a funeral rain. Like a burning dagger the emptiness cuts through his heart in the mid of cold pouring. It continues to rain….the bunch of red roses thrown by the bride fall on her grave, and fades to white.

The rain washes away the present out of it; and it keeps on descending.

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Since long I have been complaining about rains. A friend calls and says

‘Let’s meet up.’

I look out of the balcony and frown ‘But its raining!!’...

‘So? Don’t believe you are saying that!’

‘I really don’t like rains in city’, the snob inside me says (As if it’s all up to my permission!) With great efforts I manage to dress up and leave.

But seriously, until lately I never liked rains. There is no definite explaining why? But I profoundly detested it. As a child, I used to look at people dying to step out of offices or houses just to feel the first drizzle.

They would look outside the windows and play with the drops of water splashing on their palms. How stupid, I thought! And those idiots darting foot ball on muddy play grounds. Football in rain! Laughing, soaking, jumping like crazy!! Where do these people get it? I always thought. It never occurred to me that deep inside I was the same, only undiscovered. For me it was all about getting sticky, scratchy, the puddles on roads and filthy smell of dampness. The only thing I liked about rain back than was the mushy smell of earth, and change in air that tickles the senses.

One such late evening as I was sitting idle doing some crap job for sake of it; when suddenly the sky became cloudy. A massive layer of clouds gathered. The already retiring sun was now completely covered with it. In the beginning a sad shadowy color painted all over. At distance I could see heavy showers advancing. As it got closer small drips started to fall here and there. In seconds it turned in to huge droplets. And as the air changed from pleasant to chilly, every gush of wind made me shiver. Nevertheless I enjoyed it. Like a child I jumped and rejoiced it.

The sky looked endless and full of mysteries; I wanted to gaze deeper and longer. There were small and big clouds peeping behind one another; all in shades of gray and blue with a string of golden highlight. Its silky silhouette looked so fine!! The raindrops were now crashing against the soft surface of earth quenching her thirst. From cracked dark brown the earth turned spongy brown. She looked content and cheerful. Why not, it was last monsoon she meet her lover.

The rain kept on falling forcefully. Many of the drops splashed against the iron bars on the balcony. They fell in a rhythm; a silent rhythm. Inside the translucent drop of water laid so many pictures, reflections. I turned my face towards the showering clouds to see the drops fall right in my eyes. It looked so incredible, every single drop falling down in slow motion; my eyes were washed with this cool liquid. And I realized there were warm tears mixing and pouring out as well. Who knows, may be looking at the pouring clouds they started to trickle as well. I didn’t ask why.

Isn’t it the same water that’s been [Re]-cycling since ages? It’s old and young at the same time. It has made a long journey through time, seen both the primitive and the modern. Yet it won’t forget to serve its duty, be true to it own nature. It’s pure when up in the sky than it descends up on us, allowing it self to get dirty, filthy and malice beyond limits. But than it is nature. It has the supremacy to recreate it self. While it’s here feel it.

Every year the earth waits for the rains reply. Hoping it will be back soon with its pallet of colors, its ageless beauty and purifying nature. When you understand that it gives you more than just the basic requirement of water, you very naturally give in. That’s the power of persuasion, persuasion of nature it self. How could I resist such a power? After all, I was touched by rain….

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