Drops of Ecstasy

The rains have always got out the poetic side or the writer in me, say a lot of people. For me, the rains have a far deeper meaning and importance. Under the "feel good" emotions are a flurry of reasons for their commencement. The monsoons have always been my best friend, not only because they bring rain or because my birthday falls during the season, but because they bring along an atmosphere that subtly sets my mood to its best. Be it the light drizzle, the petrichor, the thunder, the lightning, the dark grey clouds and later on the clear blue sky when the drops have been shed, or the heavy rainfall thundering onto the ground like bullets, and even the hefty and dense downfall that belittles everyone and everything, I love it all. Unlike a lot of people, I like to watch the rains from afar instead of getting wet. I feel like it helps me look at the bigger picture, like the way a particular drop came and fell onto the ground (instead of a shower that wet me and went its own way. This way, the focus is more on the rains than on me.), diminished into nothingness. I say diminished into nothingness and not reduced to nothingness, because its existence doesn't cease to exist as it touches the ground. Instead, it only gets over with its adventure and decides on contributing to do responsible things. Up until two months back, I had never known the craving for the rains during monsoons, lucky as I was to have lived all my life in a town that was blessed with the best weather all through the year. But then I moved into another city, a city characterised by extreme weather conditions-too hot during summers and too cold during winters and either hot or cold during the rest of the year. Two out of three months of the monsoons had already passed and the maximum I had seen of the rains were five minute drizzles. After the two month long wait, the skies finally decided to fulfill my prayers, and it rained. It couldn't have been on a better day. I had been feeling particularly low, disappointed with myself for not having done all the things that I should have done or I could have done. The sound of pattering raindrops woke me up from my sad sleep and beckoned me towards itself. I got up and out of bed in no time and came to the open area. The breeze swept past me, sending a shiver of joy down my spine. How many days had I waited for this! The raindrops fell on the brick-road before me, sometimes jumping out and creating a splash and sometimes settling into the little holes. The beautiful transcendence of the raindrops from its former self to the wetness on the ground was heart winning! It sent a smile, a genuine one across my face. I grinned like an idiot. Meanwhile, groups of young adults had formed circles in front of me and were playing kikli. They shouted and shrieked as the raindrops wet them. The effortless smiles, the beautiful grins and the child-like laughter looked nothing less than a miracle. It seemed like none of them had ever seen a bad day. Lost in the moment, without the fears and the worries that guide human actions, without the pressure to impress, without the desire to be the best, such a beautiful scene it was! They played random games, absurd games, foolish games, all with a wide grin. Splashing through the accumulated water, tossing each other and running like there's nobody watching. Their smiles set me smiling, their grins warmed my heart, their laughter sent sears of happiness down my spine and the happiness in their hearts almost teleported me to a land called "happiness". The drops of rain are my drops of ecstasy. What are yours?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To seek or not to seek

As the wintry chill swum across the village and engulfed its inhabitants in yet another wave of iciness, our grandma beckoned us to come sit around her in the verandah where she had lighted up the fire. The seven of us raced to reach her first, and be the lucky one to sit nearest to her and to the fire. This had been our evening tradition during all the winter vacations, for as long as I could remember. We surrounded our grandma like the planets surround the sun. She used to be the centre of our universe for the two hours that used to follow. Childhood tales, legendary stories, amusing and terrifying anecdotes followed by morals and bits of advices-these were the bits that effectively filled those two hour long sessions. That evening, however, was extraordinary. The teachings imparted that day would continue to guide me through all difficult moments in life. It was that evening when I was introduced to the concept of individualism. That evening was indeed magical-in the lessons impart
Read more

Till the end of time

Rabia sat on a rock, facing the Arabian Sea, with the Marine drive promenade behind her. She picked up a string of marigold flowers strung together to form a garland and began to pluck its petals distractedly. Meanwhile, the sun was setting into the Arabian Sea. She liked the silence at this hour. Nobody had turned up at the beach again today. While she sat on the rock listening to the sea waves and watching the birds fly back to their nests, she remembered that she had to go back home, too. Rahman would come home soon and she had to make chicken for dinner, since it was Friday. She had only started to get up, when an unfamiliar hand touched her shoulder. She turned back to look at a man. His face looked familiar but she could not remember why. Rabia woke up from sleep in haste. The man in her dreams was the one that she'd seen in a Spanish webseries the previous day. A pang of guilt engulfed her. It was a sin to even think of haram things. She decided to pray two nafl rakats
Read more

Reminiscences

The images of my childhood are blurred portraits. Blurred, but not inferior. They are grand and royal and beautiful. They serve as a vessel to all the happy events and the cherishable memories. The music that used to play in my brother's room, the smell of phenyl from when the floors were mopped, the sound of the fan turning at maximum speed during summers, mother's morning call on Eid and midnight hugs on my birthday--they are retained in my memory like the back of my hand; and are evoked at the sligthest mention, smell or sound of it. They are retained in my memory, not in details, but in emotions. Recently, I visited an amusement park from one of those memories and it had suddenly shrunk in size from what I could recall through my childhood memories. And so had that hospital that I used to visit as a child for my vaccines. It made me realise that all our memories are prone to subjectivity. It is always emphasised how childhood days are the best ones-full of hope, devoid of
Read more