Gurmeet Singh Bekraar
The sky thundered and I wondered what was it upto. Before I could crack my brains it roared to its crescendo and lo! tiny drops of water came pouring down. I peeped out of my window, jumped out of the bed and scampered towards the verandah. The familiar smell suffused in the ambience and a whiff of chilled air came filtering through the rain droplets. A cool sensation stirred up in me tempting me to wallow in the pluvial grandeur.
The monsoon has set in and so has the expectations. The hot June has just passed by but to come to remind of its scorching days, it still spring flutters in the mind. How would I forget when my water cooler blew blazing air into the room discarding disloyally its dutiful principles. The electricity played truant like we did in our school days. Time has its own way of taking revenge, so they say.
Before I forget the fretful days of searing June-the rains outside fall in cats and dogs. Temptation bears upon me and before I undress myself-the chip of the same block-my offspring Harry takes the lead and splurges on the rains like a maniac. Thumping his feet in slosh, mimicry printed on his cherubic face he signals me to share the rare. And it is not long when my scrawny legs begin gyrating to the tunes of bucketing down rains. We dad and son, keep on prancing and dancing until my “bitter” half in her incorrigible tone yells at me from inside….Halt!….and there we are surrendering to the command, back under the roof.
Familiar tangy fumes of Pakoras emanate from the kitchen and diffuse in the air to our nostrils. Globules of viscous saliva dribble down our lips. It is not late when my Shrimati barges in the room with a tray decorated with the expected. I glance gleefully at the rains, feeling now the cool temperature overpowering me. The fan overhead, in the reversal of roles spines spewing chilly air. The setting is perfected when a steaming cup of tea fills the slot. My son smiles sagaciously, I too wag my head in rapture.
Allergy to rains, however, remains many a person’s persistent phobia. Lacking aesthetic sense they always curse heavens for His untimely outburst which destroys their jogging schedules and outdoor engagements. Some are too timid to face the “Almighty’s tears’’. And the one of this kind bumped into me the other day out in the market. The bumpkin checked in under my umbrella uninvited while it was drizzling. He flung freely a plethora of abuses at the taciturn rains. The rain Gods were perhaps angered. They tumbled down more vigorously. The chirpy friend of mine took hold of the stick of the umbrella and shoved me partially out in the showers. Half of my body was flushed with diagonally falling downpour.
Yet I never curse the rains. For they are my friends… friends to be shared, to be felt, to be felt, to be devoured. O, my friend, come down from the heaven and embrace me in your open arms every moment, everyday. Please do not delay… listen.. hey!!!
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