Posted by Pepper on July 9, 2012
It is bright and sunny and you think you are smart enough to forecast the weather, you venture out wearing a white tee worn over blue capris. You’ve worn purple lingerie inside, but hey, that is supposed to be a secret.
And then you realise you are not so smart when it begins to pour and you find yourself getting drenched. You panic, and look for cover. Because today is the day you chose to wear white, and you were stupid enough to wear purple inside, and if you allow yourself to get fully drenched, your tee will cling to you and become transparent and your bright insides will be visible to all, and then creeps on the road will lech at you, and some might even try and feel you up as they walk past you, and the rest of the people who don’t eye you lecherously will look at you disapprovingly and think you are a slut and..
I stopped midway. Did I just fear being labelled a slut? Why? What the hell was the definition of ‘slut’? Somebody who shows skin? Wasn’t I wanting to reclaim the word? I felt terrible for having thought on those lines. And why should I consider myself a victim, without actually being one? Why should I be walking with fear, when the perpetrators walk fearlessly? With those thoughts, I decided to walk home without a care. I straightened my sloping posture, looked straight ahead and enjoyed walking back in the rain, without caring about what was, and what could have been. And it felt bloody good. Oh sweet rain, thank you for washing away my fears.
It was pouring one night. We were looking for a cab. The streets were flooded. I had no umbrella and was trying to wade through water that rose above my knees. I could feel the slush and the muck beneath my feet. The pelting rain blurred my vision. In short, not a very desirable situation to be in, for ‘normal’ people. I on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed it. I finally got to the end of the lane that was relatively less flooded. My mother was waiting for me under a dry, sheltered patch. She saw me walk towards her, and noticed my squinting eyes, drenched clothes, droplets of water running down my face and asked me if I was okay. In response to that, I asked her, “Mama, can I please go back there and play around for sometime?” She asked me if I was crazy, and I smiled. Dear rain, you make me crazier than what I already am.
It was a dark, cloudy morning. I stepped into the bathroom and realised, I’d need the lights on that day. As I turned on the shower, it began to rain heavily. I could hear the drumming. The rhythm. The melody of rain. As I began to enjoy the clean, hot water from the shower running down my body, I felt grateful. For the home I have, the comforts, the convenience. I knew at that very moment, there would be a million helpless people battling the rain, some of them homeless, facing hardships due to lack of shelter. I thanked God mentally. I had protection from the rain and other elements of weather, I had hot water to cleanse myself with, and I had a clean, fluffy towel waiting for me at the end of it. This, among a hundred other things. Oh rain, you make me count my blessings.
That evening, the air was refreshingly cool. The rain poured. It smelt so earthy. The pretty flowers in our balcony were in full bloom. The sister and I stood there, watching the overcast sky, and feeling joy. Soon, it began thundering and lightening. We brought out the guitar and made ourselves comfortable in the balcony and had a wonderful time, with her strumming ‘I hear thunder..’ and other related songs. That evening was so magical, with the euphony of the rain and the sound of the guitar. Beautiful rain, you make me just so happy!
I’ve had the opportunity to experience the Mumbai monsoon after years. I remember longing for it last year. This year, I am totally living it up and I can’t stop smiling.