Sunday, June 10, 2012

Arrival of Rains 2012

Its 4.00 a.m in the morning. Must I say, I have a view from my balcony at this hour. Wish I had a camera, but somethings should be captured in the mind. Funny, it is that I have being dramatizing this moment in the mind for such a long time.

Its going to be a almost a 10 year stint in this place. Affection, like life finds its way over a period of time. But then, I mentioned a view. This one is special. Outside the lamp post is as usual wonderfully pouring yellow light down on a lush green tree. Beyond the small fence lies a lush green sports lawn. Not exactly of the size measured in the number of foot ball fields, but quite small. May be a fourth of the foot fall field. Beside the this ground, is the two storied, school. Desolated, at this hour, relaxing in silence. Beyond, at 10 floored eye level is the green hill. Rather a series of green hills. Still and green, and encompassing a town, away from the hustle. Witness this with the first drizzle that comes over.

This is first rain of the season. In this dark morning, the drizzles started pouring heavily, the classic pitter patter. For us, its going to be the last spell of Mumbai monsoon in this place. Rains which are mostly dreaded, I have noticed is also mostly awaited here in the city, irrespective of the filth it brings about on the roads. But then , people here have habit of looking up come what may, at the dancing stream of rains over the city skylines, over the queens necklace, over the beach line, and its those sights,that I have noticed is cherished.

And of course, I am not alone, I know at this hour, there are many who would be sleepless and sinking into their own feelings. Sucking the quite ness of the pitter patter before the rush. Lot of eyes would be watching out of the windows. A few hands would be stretched out of the windows. And a few, feeling the coolness over the fingertips and coldness over the skin. All of this under the night sky while the dark clouds gently are falling down and apart.

There is a funny image I have though, one of a sleepless infant child, laying alone in the cradle listening to the rain drops, wondering at the pitter-patter down on the window. Mfay be smiling with glittering eyes wide open and wondering at the mysterious wonderment of the sound,while half of world sleeps, unaware, a distant life forms its way under the realm of things unseen, un noticed.

The Door

As I write this, a few doors are getting closed behind.

I step out of the door. Subconsciously, I am aware, that I am stepping out for the last time, out of this door. I would not be stepping in back again. I know it, its not my whims and fancy's it s the dictum of time, which has arrived to part. For certain things its a daunting fact. Relinquishing the old, for the new. The old has to die for the new to be born. No matter, how-much so ever, one would like to hold on to the old into the future too. Thats where we were gifted with memory. Memory distinctly unlike other imaginations.

So thats what happens, when you look things closely, you just might re-surrect a dead chirst for another incarnation of three years, and eventually hung over on cross, then on a church and over the sands of time. Or like hear the last click of the door closing the room, closing up a memory, few windows, few walls, and invaluable moments, all locked inside, in the lonesome wish to immortalize a memory.