Had a disturbed night. The insistent beeping of a message on the mobile woke me up. Was shocked to find it was already 7.35 am. Haven't slept beyond 6.30 am for ages now. Head was throbbing silghtly, body aching - a sign of age catching up perhaps. Feeling guilty, made up the bed, brushed the teeth, fixed the normal cup of coffee, switched on the Laptop for the customary reading of morning news on web. The windchime, hanging outside on the balcony, was ringing steadily - the sound melodious. Still sensing something amiss, I Opened the curtain, expectings blazing sunlight and yet another harsh pre-summer day. What I saw made me double check my Cuckoo watch. There was no mistake. It was indeed 7.50 am and getting dark. I could see the monsterous dark clouds looming on the horizon. I had to hastily close the balcony door as the swirling wind picked up dust and the rain drops starting to fall steadily. The chime was ringing wildly, reminding me of the fire engine back in Kerala. The darkness amazed me. I made a quick dive to get my Camera, once again thankful for my forethought in having kept it fully charged. The dark clouds moved overhead, reminding me of the train passing through a tunnel on the Mumbai -Pune sector. My trusted camera captured the wonderful moment for posterity,
The sky slowly turned to pale dusty orange. The street lights were on. The steady drizzle had intensified to a short sharp downpour. Camera in one hand and coffee cup in another, I watched, fascinated. The child in me, in awe of the vagaracies of the mother nature, danced with joy. Camera clicked on furiously,
The streets were empty. The cuckoo came out and cooed 8 times. I thought it might not come out during the rain. I was forced to shut the door to the balcony as the rain was coming down hard and the wind was blowing towards me. The dust was gone, the sky turned to a healthy grey, as one would expect during a steady downpour. The cars parked downstairs got a free wash, and water was flowing on the asphalted road in a steady stream. I desperately wanted to make some paper boats, go down and place them on the stream of water, but that is not on for a 46 year old man - or is it?
Then the rain stopped. The whole thing lasted 25 minutes, but wonderful 25 minutes. Reluctantly, I moved away from the window. The coffee had grown cold, for I had forgotten to even take a sip.
I was sad when the sky cleared and wanted the rain to endure. But hey! I could still enjoy the weather. The chime was still ringing, indicating a steady breeze. I pulled on my walking dress and got out immediately. A few drops of rain was still in the air, backed up by a steady breeze. The Garden was washed clean and I had it to myself - all alone. The birds, sensing the end of the rain, had started chirping. I could hear the rustling sound of the leaves. It was pleasantly cold with water still in the air. The cobbled walking path, wet from the rain, reminded me of the Kerala temples - pure and unadulterated joy pervaded the air. I took a few lung-fulls, nostalgic of the days gone by in native Kerala. There was a spring in my steps. It was as if I had rediscovered my youth. The sky was still grey, but the clouds were moving away. By the time I finished walking, the sun was trying to peep out, indicating a glorious day around the corner. Three young kids, barely 3 years old, had come by then to the Garden, running around screaming. The joy in their innocent beaming faces were worth seeing. One kid looked at me, his smile freezing at the big overbearing intruder of his joy, but on seeing me flash a huge smile and a wink, reciprocated with a whoopee. I wished I could let my hair down like him, realising the futility of a bald man letting his hair down. The heart, however, is still that of a simple kid brought up in rural kerala, amongst the paddy fields, mynahs and monsoon rain.
I gave a silent prayer to God, for giving me such a wonderful diversified experience over a short span of an hour and a half.
