Megha

It was 5:00PM, 20th May 2018, Mysuru.

I got up from my relaxing weekend afternoon sleep, sat near the table to write something.

I looked out the window. The sky was tar-black and the large clouds were moving towards me. I heard a tapping on the window and then it became a pitter-patter.

Before it hit the ground, rain had just water. It had no smell. But after the drops hit the ground and interacted with soil, a homely, baked-earth smell rose from the land as it was washed and cleansed by the dewy tears of summer rain. Petrichor, the smell of the first rains after a dry spell, rose its sweetness. It was a jasmine-and-gingerbread fragrance, warm and fresh, and it left the land with sweetness, which enforced me to capture it and put it in an airtight vessel, which I can smell as per my wish. But, sad! I didn’t have that capability.

The water droplets fell like they simply could not think of anything better to do, as if they could barely be bothered to conform to the will of gravity. People ran for cover outside and umbrellas were opened as the clouds spat out their beads of water. Nearby puddle began plinking as the rainfall became heavier. The roofs of the cars danced with spray and I could hear the murmuring of the rain through the window. It sounded like the buzzing of angry bees.

When I held my bare arm out of the room window the droplets splatter on my outstretched fingers made all the dryer by reading in front of the fireplace. They were large and soft. I tilted my fingers upwards and watch the remnants of the drops run downwards like tiny rivers. If this was the way rainy days were here I could get used to it real fast; even the sound on the cedar roof is comforting. With a half smile I retreated leaving the window open, this way I could hear the steady drumming all the louder.

Steaming shrouds of cloud coil and writhe. Then an unearthly caterwauling sounded filling the air. The wind whipped up into frenzy. It was a shrieking, keening omen of the carnage to follow. The clouds race across the sky, thrumming with the charged energy they were desperate to release. It started with big, sopping drops of moisture. They were wild and indiscriminate, plump missiles of mass destruction that splatter onto the soft soil. The topsoil turns into slushy goo, but it didn’t matter. The harvest had been taken in and the farmer stokes the glowing coals with a poker and a sigh of contentment. The rain was sissing and hissing off the roof, teeming onto the spongy earth.

I quickened my pace as the clouds began to gather in the sky. Up to now, the sky had been postcard-perfect, but it was changing. The beautiful cocktail-blue shade was beginning to darken into gravel-grey. Large pillows of cloud were forming, blotting out the old-gold colour of the sun.

Droplets of moisture began to drip from the leaves. They were sprinkling onto the grass like a gardener’s hose. Then the rainfall became more intense. So much rain was falling that the sound blurred into one long, whirring noise. It reminded me of the rotor blades on a helicopter.

My soul forced me to get up from the chair and rush outside. I ran to the nearby woodland, at the bottom of a small hill. Rainwater started flowing from my tip to toe, soothing out all of those disturbing emotions which were boiling out within me a few minutes back. I could remember the song ‘Barso re megha megha…’ from movie Guru, started singing and dancing myself without my knowledge. First time, I realized…”Yeah…my voice was so sweet! I could make a nice combination of rhythms…!! I could dance in a self-way on the tune of this self-made rhythm…!!!Is the rain so beautiful…? Then why didn’t have I realized since so many years…!!! Anyone who says Sunshine brings happiness, has never realized the joy of dance in rain!!! If beauty is God’s signature, then rain is his final flourish”.

Eventually, the noise lessened and the drops faded into a musical chime. The sun came out again, casting slanted beams of light across the meadow. Steam rose slowly from the grass. It rose up eerily and drifted mist-like towards the molten-gold sun. The dazzling and very beautiful rainbow came out behind the hill, reminding me that rainbows are like people. They shine the brightest after the storm. I love rainbows. They're basically miracles and symbols that shows me that even after the worst storms, things can still end up being beautiful. Who was that painter who is painting this beautiful scenery so nicely!

The image was so vivid that it stayed with me all the way home.