I like the sound of rain, I really like to look at the world through a rain screen, I like the after effects and I have learned to like the muck but, Getting wet in the rain does not make me one bit a happier person.It means sticky hair, sticky skin and a longer bathroom routine. If your immune system is at least half the douche mine is, you will have cold and fever too.
But that’s an attitude for concrete jungles. My morning walk, is through a well maintained tracks in a national park with an entry fee of twenty rupees. It’s a four kilometre track rampant with peacocks. Both human and bird kinds. Well, today after three kilometres, the sky had a sudden, scary mental breakdown and it rained. If it was a person, I would have ran for my life fearing contagious eccentricity.
But, strangely two minutes in it, I didn’t mind. The sound of rain falling on leaf carpeted mud floor, the sound of rain in puddles of its own doing and the sound of rain on treetops, all of these were strange sounds and it was delicious. I lapped up. Rain sounds sad and wailing on concrete and tar. It gets drawn to drainages, trenches and ditches, if you are lucky or it drowns the city.
But the forest calls rain its own, treats it with reverence and rejoices in its coming. I like the colour green too, it was hard to get myself out of the forest. I can only imagine what kindness it is to have rains in cities where the only wilderness is at nights on lit floors and ceilings.
I carried the stupor back home, calls to and from chennai helped me keep it tightly still. I write this, sipping sweet tea, wet – crying for a wash hair coiled on my head, sitting cross legged on a dining table chair in wet clothes.