I was watching the weeds outside and the flowers dried and faded stirring in the monsoon. Eliot’s “Waste land” was remembered. Rain was pouring over everything. Over the dusty lanes, the pain of yesterdays, the truth of today and the colors of tomorrow.
Yesterday’s rain took me away to childhood. While I was looking at the flowers I felt my long forgotten childhood delicacy, a feeling of weightlessness. As a child again I reach the damp courtyard of memories, of school days, of the red gulmohar trees.
I remember the rain as it spattered shining droplets over me and passed giggling. I remember the smell of rain, then the dreadful thunder, the bumble bees, the childhood fancies…
When we have to miss all what we consider the most precious, dearest to heart, we’ll realize that we have grown up. And all this adulthood cannot provide the serenity of childhood. All the life cannot give me back the monsoon days I miss, the reopening, the first school days, the smell of new books, of damp classrooms, of friendships cherished deeper and deeper at heart.
I needed the rain to wash away thoughts of something lacking, instead it brought to me the thoughts of awakening…memorizing that I’m incomplete without my past. Red anger to blue sadness, yellow fear to black despair…
I was walking back in a path which is long forgotten, an abandoned railway track with grass growing between the rails. Trying to believe that I’ve not lost anything. It was an old fairytale, perhaps, Cinderella. Yes, I’m trying to believe, that I’ve never lost my opal slipper.
The moist air chills the tears on my cheeks. If only I could tear out my heart and hurl it into the rain, then my anguish would be over, and I could finally forget. But I’m relieved that I could finally cry in yesterday’s rain.
