August 20, 2013
A usual Tuesday evening; the rain playing its song of splashes, the fresh earthy smell. With its downward descent, the rain washes everything from the dusty roads to the sky-kissing buildings and engulfs the area with romance and peace.
I’m not a rain lover but today there’s this unusual tranquility that I’m finding in this music that the rain is playing. The strong aroma of the pakoras being made in the kitchen has urged my tongue to rain in the similar way. With the evening snacks and this monsoon placid, I’m in a different place today. This entire atmosphere is making sure that I time-travel to my part of my life as a kid.
To be honest, I’m not a rain lover. To me, the only good thing about the rain is that it let’s the soil escape the heat, in turn allowing our respiratory system to celebrate the sweet fragrance of monsoon. I’m a person who does not associate rains to romance. Rain to me is about broken and water-logged roads and being packed in my room. I don’t like getting drenched in rain.
But..then, there was a certainly a person in me who loved to soak every bit of my soul in the rain. As a kid, August was my favorite month because after school, on the days that it rained, I had my personal roof-top rain dance parties. It was a cooling respite to me after the enduring the scorching studies at school. My shoes, socks and tie came out in no time, I used to throw my bag in my room, change my clothes and would rush to the roof, all this, like a goldfinch in the Laburnum top. When my grandmother insisted me to finish my lunch first, I would make all kind of pleading puppy faces at her to let me dance in the rain first. I had this shatterproof relationship (that every 7-year old has) with the monsoon during the primary school years. After I turned 11, this rain-dance worship of mine deteriorated every year and then after I completed my matriculation; from a rain lover, I had transformed into a person to whom the rain was just another natural low-intensity cataclysmic phenomena.
Today I’m trying to feast upon the childhood memories, It reminds me of how the rains were an important part of my growing up. Just like an average Indian kid, I correlated the rains to the dance, pakoras, jalebis and of course the refreshing fragrance of the wet soil. Post rain, the world around me looked cleansed and scrubbed.
And then slowly, studies and struggle to scribble my identity on the bulletin-board called society took the first place. Things I loved to do as a kid took the back-seat.
**Why am I talking about this**
Often, when I reflect upon these changes, I land up into this place where I realize that everyone gives up something or the other while growing up. For me it is the love of rain, for some one it might be something else. We change. From kids who love to splash in the muddy rain water, we change into grown-ups who swear at the same muddy rain water for messing up our shoes.
It’s so comical. We’re into this race for being on the top and during all of this, we’re some other person altogether. It is complicated to live as a grown-up. It is easy being a kid. As a kid, things are either black or white, they are no grays.
It is necessary to connect to your true self once in while.