Its wonderful that one can write about rain in endless ways. One can also experience rain in endless ways. Growing up in arid Kuwait, rain was an unprecedented gift. Continuing my childhood in Kerala, I found rain to be a real pain to live with – clothes never laundered well and the splashes of dirty water ending up on one’s clothes when too-fast buses headed self-importantly to their regular destinations, was far from poetic. In college, we danced unselfconsciously in the rain portraying a liberation of spirit not felt previously or indulged in since. Rain could be beauty, misery or liberty – reflecting the state of one’s mind for of course only we change – the rain stays the same.
Rain in California was a very sanitized version of rain in Kerala. It was not only milder but also did not bring with it the aroma of newly moistened soil. Every visible bed was mulched to perfection, so no smells assailed you when you walked in the rain along streets lined with pretty houses. Flowers were huge and picture perfect but their fragrance was either non-existent or a pale version of the lusty fragrances of the tropical flowers from back home.
Bangalore rain is civilized without being deprived of its soul. So for the most part it rains only in the evenings and nights with the days being sunny or merely slightly overcast. At nights, all restraint is left to the winds and the rain pours down in torrents saturating the earth and then overflowing every which way.
Last night I sat outside on the portico steps watching the downpour as it lashed the trees and bushes. Sipping my nightly cup of hot milk and feeling the spray of water on my face, I sat for a long time just breathing in the beauty of the scene. The drumming of the rain on the roof of the car shelter was in sync with the vibrations of my thoughts. For a few moments, there was that pure harmony and nothing else. For me today, rain means a rejuvenation of the spirit – tomorrow of course it could mean something else entirely :-)
