| Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. I woke up one morning to the gentle sounds of raindrops falling on my window pane. I breathed in the fresh scent of the earth and smiled. I lay in bed for another minute, listening to the steady stream of rain, but then just had to look outside. I ran to my window and stuck my head out. The cool spray on my face felt every bit as wonderful as it had many many years ago, when I first played outside in the rain. The grey skies did nothing to dull my heart. Instead, the uniform grey background only served to draw attention to the clean green trees, the deep hues of the flowers, and the sweet little birds huddling together, their feathers all wet and awry. Ah! The rain made me want to sing. There's something absolutely magical about listening to the sound of a perfectly tuned tanpura and the sound of the rainfall. When your voice resonates with the pure notes that exist in either, you're on a different plane altogether. I closed my eyes and saw a beautiful thick forest full of exotic birds and plants, and Lord Krishna in the midst of it all, playing His flute, charming every being around Him. I saw peacocks, proudly showing off their magnificent feathers, dancing, joyously welcoming the rain. I opened my eyes and saw a couple of black umbrellas. My heart sank just a little bit -- the cruelty of life has taught me to associate black umbrellas with funerals. I looked carefully and saw two young lovers gazing into each other's eyes, locked in embrace. I smiled again, and thought back to when I was young. I remembered how I'd always rush outside the first day of the monsoon season. I remembered sitting with my friends at a tea stall under its thatched roof, sipping steaming masala chai and munching freshly fried spicy bhujiya's as we'd cheer the older boys playing soccer in the muddy fields. I remembered helping little children sail their paper boats on the puddles that collected on the pavements, hearing how each one dreamt of building his very own gigantic ship when he grew up. I remembered cycling down narrow paths filled with water and watch in awe as the water parted in a trail behind me. I walked outside once again, with my arms outstretched. I lifted my face to the pouring skies and my heart joyously burst into a song ....and I found hope once again in my life. Glossary: Tanpura -- Stringed instrument played to keep pitch in Indian classical music Masala chai -- Flavored Indian tea Bhujiya's -- Onion rings |
| Creative Synchopations/Ramya Kapadia Indian rain |
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