Rain, rain, go away...no, no, stay (for a bit anyway)It started off as a beautiful autumn day though it was quite hot and then...the rain came down. The air smelt like fresh earth, which was drinking in the water everywhere the drops hit the ground. I had quite forgotten how intoxicating it is to just savor the coolness in the air and promptly filled my lungs with the indescribable aroma - so crisp and clean. The grey skies, the trees sagging under the weight of the raindrops, the breeze blowing - all I wanted to do was crawl under the blankets, read a good book with some hot coffee in hand (ok I wanted some tasty bajjis too), contemplate about stuff but work beckoned.
I do remember the rain on the streets of Bangalore when us kids would be walking home from school after the rains, the ditches running alongside the road would be filled with gushing water. Some days it would rain so much that water stagnated on the roads, getting inside the shoes and soaked up our socks! We put our note book papers to good use though by making paper boats and racing them in the ditches to see whose boat would be carried the farthest without sinking. A short trip home could turn into a half hour fun-filled walk - who cared about falling sick when it was so much fun to get soaked by the rain water! These days the first thing that comes to mind is that my car is going to get a much needed wash - ha ha!
Reminds me of a funny incident (well, it didnt seem so funny when it happened) when it rained and I got down from the autorickshaw. I was quite close to the street when this big truck drove by so fast that all the water piled up on the side of the road splashed on me in one big wave! I had seen this happen in commercials or movies and it cracked me up everytime to see a poor soul get drenched but when it happened to me, I was not so thrilled. All I wanted to do was run after the truck and do some bodily harm to the driver. Once I dried myself off, I saw the funny side.
Last summer on a day trip,we were passing through this beautiful stretch of the countryside, fields on both sides bursting with yellow sunflowers. Anywhere I looked, there were moutains in the distance, green fields mixed with big patches of yellow. I clicked pictures of everything in sight - the mountains, the fields, the bees that seemed to be dozing contentedly in the middle of the big flowers. Then the rain came down and I had to run to the car. I cant ever forget the vivid contrast of colors I saw that day. The dark grey sky, the shadowy mountains, the dark green fields and of course the beautiful yellow sunflowers. Wonder where the bees went when the heavens came down...hmmm.
Here is H.W.Longfellow's poem called "Rain in summer" I studied a long time ago and remembered when it rained today.
How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!
How it clatters along the roofs,
Like the tramp of hoofs
How it gushes and struggles out
From the throat of the overflowing spout!
Across the window-pane
It pours and pours;
And swift and wide,
With a muddy tide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain!
The sick man from his chamber looks
At the twisted brooks;
He can feel the cool
Breath of each little pool;
His fevered brain
Grows calm again,
And he breathes a blessing on the rain.
From the neighboring school
Come the boys,
With more than their wonted noise
And commotion;
And down the wet streets
Sail their mimic fleets,
Till the treacherous pool
Ingulfs them in its whirling
And turbulent ocean.
In the country, on every side,
Where far and wide,
Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide,
Stretches the plain,
To the dry grass and the drier grain
How welcome is the rain!
In the furrowed land
The toilsome and patient oxen stand;
Lifting the yoke encumbered head,
With their dilated nostrils spread,
They silently inhale
The clover-scented gale,
And the vapors that arise
From the well-watered and smoking soil.
For this rest in the furrow after toil
Their large and lustrous eyes
Seem to thank the Lord,
More than man's spoken word.
Near at hand,
From under the sheltering trees,
The farmer sees
His pastures, and his fields of grain,
As they bend their tops
To the numberless beating drops
Of the incessant rain.
He counts it as no sin
That he sees therein
Only his own thrift and gain.
These, and far more than these,
The Poet sees!
He can behold
Aquarius old
Walking the fenceless fields of air;
And from each ample fold
Of the clouds about him rolled
Scattering everywhere
The showery rain,
As the farmer scatters his grain.
He can behold
Things manifold
That have not yet been wholly told,--
Have not been wholly sung nor said.
For his thought, that never stops,
Follows the water-drops
Down to the graves of the dead,
Down through chasms and gulfs profound,
To the dreary fountain-head
Of lakes and rivers under ground;
And sees them, when the rain is done,
On the bridge of colors seven
Climbing up once more to heaven,
Opposite the setting sun.
Thus the Seer,
With vision clear,
Sees forms appear and disappear,
In the perpetual round of strange,
Mysterious change
From birth to death, from death to birth,
From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth;
Till glimpses more sublime
Of things, unseen before,
Unto his wondering eyes reveal
The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel
Turning forevermore
In the rapid and rushing river of Time.
