Raindrops..

“Walking in the rain, all by myself is something of a routine I follow year after year. I have been doing that since I suppose the time I discovered the healing powers of little raindrops falling continuously on your skin, soaking it, rejuvenating it. Accompanying it, the cool breeze, the soft noise made by thousands of droplets, the sight of leaves bathed in water, a bright green color, flowers looking more hued than ever , to lift your spirits.
Come monsoon, and my mind invariably wanders off in a world of its own. I find romance in every little activity I do. From wearing my baby pink mackintosh, to the cup of coffee shared with that someone special, there is something magical about this season.
Of course, the umbrella acting as a shield against the rain and as cupid at the same time when enveloping two people torments the heart, making me feel that there is nothing in this world that is more important than love, and my loved one.

Lost in this reverie, I don’t realize that I have walked past the greenery, the buildings, and the shiny clean cobble stoned road and now am facing a dun colored scenery. Actually, not so much of scenery, just a scene. I walk here often but what I am looking at now is very different. It is a part of the town with the worst living conditions, and it worsens with the onset of rains.
Ignored and ghettoized by people and the officials, this area has no arrangement of anything remotely like a drainage system, so now, what you see is
‘Water water everywhere and not an outlet of escape’.

The floor is wet, because the jute bags that form the makeshift carpeting cum flooring are sodden and cold, the tin sheets, and the canvas awnings, the temporary roof, are also leaky. So, it is doom from heaven and earth crushing the human spirit living in that shanty. There is no way out from this Catch-22 situation. The luxury of lighting a fire is impossible, and so that source of warmth is also extinguished.
My eyes fall on the a young woman perhaps in her late teens, sheltering a baby with her saree, damp again, and the little baby wailing endlessly in need of more warmth than the mother’s clammy body can provide. I ask her if she has fed him anything, and with a sudden shiver, she tells me that they haven’t been able to cook anything because of the rains. Her brown eyes still hold a glimmer of hope as she tells me about her husband gone to get reinforcements, food that is not soggy, perhaps a place where she and her baby enjoy the privilege of dryness.

What I see next as I walk on from one house to another is more or less the same, just differing in the kind of misery. At one place, I see a man whose face I think I won’t be able to forget ever. I don’t want to look at him because I don’t know why, that will make me feel guilty. Involuntarily my eyes meet his; I don’t know how to describe that expression. Helplessness, frustration, regret and a kind of indifference, all are mirrored into them, as if they are overflowing with too many emotions, just like the water all over his little niche. He explains how he had bought raw material worth Rs.1000 to weave mats for sale, but before he could put it in a safe place, the battle cry of lighting and thunder announcing the arrival of rains started resonating.
And I don’t need to mention who won this one-sided battle. He is hoping against hope that maybe the sun will show up tomorrow and he would be able to dry the bamboo shavings and maybe, there would be no damage to them. I mutter to myself, that’s a too many ‘Maybes’.

I am suddenly filled by a sense of helplessness. A part of me wants to go back in the world where I can have samosas with friends with a hot cuppa, where I can enjoy watching the rain from my room’s tall French windows, and talk endlessly on the phone about the whole experience with ‘him’. Then again, a force, out of my control, carries me to the next house and the one after that.

When I reach home, I am dripping wet, but some of it, to my surprise is sweat, I am suddenly scared of something. I shouldn’t have gone there, I was happy in my knowledge of all the joys that monsoon brings, now that innocent feeling of pure joy is tarnished by memories that force me to rethink the whole ‘Romantic Rains’ scenario. Much as I try, I just can’t get over what I saw. I know something in me today changed forever.”