Today I woke up to the sound of tip-tapping of rain on the corrugated tin-shed in my backyard. Yes, the first shower of monsoon has finally arrived. I was barely able to jerk off my drowsiness when my sister pulled me outside into the rain. Perturbed at such an abrupt end to my sleep, I stood there, startled and motionless. But very soon, I was compelled by the rain to rejoice in its rhapsody. We were soon joined by our mother who went splashing around like a kid. What a lovely and rare, very rare sight for both of us. She went on telling us stories about how she spent monsoons at her granny’s place with her numerous cousins with child-like twinkle in her eyes. Rains just meant lots and lots of fun and food for them.
All of us definitely have at least one beautiful memory associated with rains. For nature- enthusiasts, it may be related to a particular variety of wild flora that popped out of nowhere or just the sweet scent of wet earth. For lovers, it may be walking hand-in-hand down the wet road under one small umbrella with their soul-mate. For foodies, it certainly would be the most delectable pakoras they’ve ever had while sipping tea out of a kulhar.
Watching my mother reliving her childhood in the pretext of rain and all these memories clouding up in my mind stamped on my belief that a child dwells inside all of us, no matter how old we grow.
Just go on splashing around whenever you find yourself in murky waters caring a damn about what passers-by will say. This is the only way to live.