Rain..

Like any impatient housewife who puts the gas burner on full when the milk is just about to be heated completely, God seems to get impatient every time its time to bring the rain. I am not trying to say God is a woman because of the impatience shown here.

When it rains everything seems to rain. I close my eyes; spread my arms under the blackish grayish clouds. Everything seems like running free. Yellow on the backdrop of black. Lines, forked lines drawn by the hand strong enough to let the lines run where they want to run…

I run free too. The rain makes everything rain. After the red of the gulmohar on the streets the newborn green makes me feel as if every day, every thing is a wonder. The ripples I see on the lake, the ripples I feel in my eye.. sometimes it is one drop at a time. Sometimes it is one rain at a time. On the black of that rock, the one that waits patiently at the edge of the river when there is only that footprint of that river, I stand tall. It lets me touch the rain before the rain touches the ground below.

The rain in my palm, it touches me soundlessly. yet seems like talking to me, it listens to me too. I try to keep the first drop of the rain in my palm, but it runs free. It touches the crooked lane, it touches the windowsill of the high window, it whips me , drowns me ..behind the glass of the window with a cup of coffee in my hand I rain with everything else.