Rains in March particularly this time of the year is really unusual. If it happens to pour like the monsoon rains that come only in May/June, every year, then all the more so. Bangalore seems to have got its’ old charm back. The drizzle, the greenery and a slight chill in the air, all are back for those who love the old Bangalore weather!
I am watching the children play below, as I look out from the window. The stillness of a dull evening is broken by sharp shrill screams by children.
With the rain comes a certain sense of sadness, of something that has gone out of our lives forever! I can’t tell what is amiss, but something makes me go back in time to the past. Memories of childhood, of trudging up-hill to school with rain-drenched squeaky shoes, and lazy afternoons, listening to stories while Ma read out to me and my brother as we listened intently, lapping up every word she uttered. Much later, rains came lashing with the furore of a lost temper washing out beautiful plans of going for an evening walk with friends, or during college days, singing songs, and humming to each other while we played antaksharis, on a long empty corridor, counting the days to go home on holiday. Years later, the memories of arriving in Mauritius on a rain soaked afternoon right in the middle of an anti-cyclone and setting up home for the first time. Memories of my little boy standing and watching the rains just as I did as a child and wondering when it would stop so he could go down and play with friends. Or when it refused to stop raining and we all huddled in the sofa to watch a film together. So many memories, all of a kind and yet, all so special, reminding me of a time that has come and gone forever, but now lives on only in memories!
I love a torrential downpour though, what I really dislike is the permanent grey skies that never seems to change colour. The only thing I wait for is the sun, and the only thing that cheers me up first thing is to see the rays of sunlight filter in through the clouds. I hope tomorrow will be brighter than today.
I get up to make myself some tea and catch the last glimpse of light before dusk falls and shrouds everything in it’s mystery. A few senior citizens leisurely stroll in the park with wooly caps and mufflers on. Young joggers run past them lost in their world of thoughts. A stray dog quietly retreats into the shadows and bright lights from the passing cars tell me it is already dark.
End of another day. Perhaps tomorrow the sun will come up. Hope to find something to be cheerful about when I draw the curtains and look out. After all, tomorrow is another day.