Petrichor of Hope

A tiny, chubby hand emerged from beneath the cradle's cover. The fingers stretched out, almost in anticipation. A single droplet fell onto the hand, and the baby flinched, as if wondering, "Where did that come from?" As the rain began to pour, the mother quickly but gently tucked the little arm back inside the cover and hurried on. The baby looked one last time towards the sky before the mother extended the cover tighter, protecting him from the rain. I watched as they turned the corner, rain cascading off the cradle, avoiding the baby; however, the mother herself is almost drenched. 

I stand up from the bench on the bus stop and proceed to walk towards the pavement on the other side, unsure of where to head. By the time I reach there, I am soaked. I notice people without umbrellas rushing to sheild themselves from the downpour, while the ones with umbrellas seem to not be in a hurry. A couple passes by, huddled under a blue umbrella with white and pink patterns on it. They giggle, whispering something to each other, both stepping over a tiny puddle of water. What nearly escapes my notice before they are out of sight is the dark stain on the man's olive shirt, the shoulder soaking with water where the umbrella doesn't cover. His arm is wrapped around the woman tightly and protectively, the umbrella tilting a bit towards her side. A small smile appears on my face when I realise the man's small and quiet act of love. They eventually get into a car, and I continue walking in the opposite direction, the smile still lingering.

I keep on walking until I find myself in a quiet neighborhood. Lines of houses stand on either side of narrow roads. I was about to move forward when I was halted by the sound of clashing metal in the distance. Almost immediately, a man in a raincoat, the hood pulled over his head, comes running in my direction. 

He holds an umbrella in one hand and what appears to be cardboard and some paper, presumably stacks of newspaper, in the other. But instead of heading towards me, he stops midway, makes a right turn, and disappears. Out of curiosity, a little too much today, I follow his path, stop at a distance from where I spot him, and watch his movements.

His umbrella has been abandoned on the road beside him, and he sits, opening the cardboard, which is now slowly forming into boxes. As water drips down my eyelashes, blurring my vision, I finally understand what he is doing. He quickly opens the newspapers, lays them on the ground, and gently places the little puppies on them. He then carefully covered their little bodies with the cardboard boxes, shielding them from the rain.

He strokes them, making sure they are comfortable and safe. As he stands up to leave, I move behind a nearby car, watching as he walks away. When he is gone, I approach the spot where the puppies lay peacefully. Above them is a balcony jutted out, large enough to cover the area from rain. Another smile forms on my lips as I realise the man not just protected them with mere cardboard and newspapers; it was his compassion and concern that brought him out here in the pouring rain. 

I leave that place with one last glance at the resting faces of the puppies.

A faint series of laughter catches my attention as I reach the end of the neighborhood. At this point, I resort to giving in to my behaviour today, deciding to inspect everything happening around me.

I pause to see a school bus with toddlers spilling out of it, their mothers holding umbrellas above them and taking their backpacks. It must have been an early dismissal due to the rain, I think to myself. The children laugh among themselves before abandoning the shelter of the umbrellas, running towards the empty lane, allowing themselves to get soaked. Their mothers, initially protesting, eventually give up and stand under their umbrellas, smiling lovingly at their playful children, cherishing this moment along with them. 

Leaving that scene behind, I am greeted again with the silent roads and I ponder over the question, "Why is it that I'm noticing these small instances now?" Perhaps it is because we often avoid going out in the rain. And if by any chance we are out, we decide to rush towards shelter, towards our confined spaces, away from the downpour, oblivious to our surroundings. Did I miss my bus and decide to walk just to soak in the rain? Or was it because i was hoping I'll find an anchor in the storm to hold on to? 

But atleast today, I was in no hurry. I was curious- curious enough to take in my surroundings, to observe people, look at animals, and feel the affection that still exists in this world. 

The rain has finally stopped, but warmth trickles down my cheeks, as tears escape from my eyes, a realisation dawning on me.

I have reached a park now, the air filled with the satisfying scent of petrichor. I take a moment to absorb the beauty of the greenery. Finally, I decide to do what I came here for. I head towards the dustbin and I discard the bottle of sleeping pills I bought from the store earlier. 

Not today. Not when there's still so much good in the world. Even in a season that creates puddles and drenches us-a season we often run from-there are moments of tenderness that may seem ordinary to some, but could become a glimmer of hope for others.