When it Rained in Chennai

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.