It was raining in Chennai, At
least in the part of Chennai where he was living. At first he sensed the day
getting darker slowly and steadily. At first he thought it was another ruse
played by the rain gods but this time around the things were different. The day
got steadily darker and then there was the ominous stillness that always and
inexplicably came before the rain. The twilight when the peacocks dance and the
birds rush to their nests. The magnificent drum-roll that accompanies any
beautiful rain. Then he could hear the soft sound of little rain drops kissing
the ground.
He made himself a cup of coffee,
slowly pouring it out into a mug like he had all of eternity to do that. He
walked to the open balcony of his apartment. He could see that it had started
raining harder and steadier. Little droplets were falling from the sun shade as
a bunch of little marching soldiers. The outside was hazy and the balcony was
partly splashed wet by the rain. He leaned over the railings, his nose almost
touching the falling rain. He could smell in the earth that was just been
showered upon, the air was thick with the fragrance of dry earth. He sipped the
coffee and as the hot liquid game him a shiver down his body as it slowly went
down. He closed his eyes and inhaled in the world around him and slowly opened
his eyes to the heavens.
The dark clouds were rolling in,
thick like a woolen blanket. The sky no longer belonged to Chennai but this sky
belonged in his memories. He could see in the sepia his life in another city,
his home. He could remember vividly how the rain clouds marched in like
Alexander’s great army. The torrential downpour that drenched the land around
him poured down his mind. He could feel the coldness of the showers and the
amazement with his being was cleansed manifested as a small smile that spread across
his face.
He remembered the years of his childhood,
the endless days he spent watching the monsoon, the thunder and the lightning
playing around like two long lost brothers in their reunion. He remembered the streams that flowed near
his house that was up to the brim and spilling from the sides. He remembered
the birds that nested in the mango tree in his house; he remembered how she
would hide herself in the thick canopy and how she dodged the falling waters.
He remembered the wet trees and the green grass. He remembered the cows and the
wet muddy trails that led in the plantations. He remembered his mother and she
would get him a cup of tea when it was raining and how they would sip it together
and watch the rain perched on their balcony.
He was I and being in Chennai for
some time now, I miss the land where I was born and where I was raised. These
memories rushed to me in a surge of emotions and nostalgia. I wonder how much
more my life revolves around the beautiful monsoons of Kerala.
