Author – Ruchi Rai
It’s divided into two different eras of my life- my memories in and with rain. The first are the nonchalant days from the extreme past which I refer to as “Before Growing Up” period, and the second is the “After Growing Up” period when my whole perception as a pluviophile changed for the good.
My memories during the “Before Growing Up” period are simple and colorful like every other kid’s. Rain was the excuse to mount my grandfather’s shoulder on my way back home from school. When I grew up a little, rain was the cause of my struggle for fitting into my pink raincoat with a school on the back. The most difficult problem, I tell you, was walking home in wet socks and water-filled shoes.
I, being a pluviophile since childhood, fantasized about getting drenched in the rain; however, all I did was try to navigate the paper boats that never sailed. Running in the rain across the lawn forcing my paper boat to move was so much of an adventure back then.
That little dance in the rain with my sister when we were finally allowed to get drenched and act like kids in the movies, jumping and splashing water was so much fun. And those small walks in the rain, when I did not take my umbrella out, was so much of an adult thing to do in teens.
In those days, rain was all about the thrill, fun, entertainment, unexpected holidays, pakodas, Maggi noodles and Horlicks. But, life is all about the changes. You might stand in the same place on the same day at the same time the following year, yet everything would be changed. Some changes are so intangible that you can’t even see but only feel them, with all of your heart. I walk on the same pavement where I first got drenched, but the feel is completely different now. The buildings are the same and the people are also the same, with some signs of aging. But I have changed, completely.
Rain is just a part of the year and is the most unexpected visitor of all the seasonal changes, yet it has managed to keep up with me during both good and bad days. It has always been kind to me, and I developed a special bond with it during the interlude between ‘Before Growing Up’ and ‘After Growing Up’ phases. The days when the void was cutting deep through my windpipe making it hard to breathe in pain, it was the sound of the rain, which became a lullaby and put me to sleep after crying silently for hours. The rain did to me what it does to fields after drought. It soothed me on the inside when I was fighting my toughest battles. Like the dust settles down after rain, my pain settled down during the last monsoon. I owe this solace to the rain.
Now, when I believe that I have grown up enough, the petrichor plucks the string of my heart that plays the memories from the past and reminds me of those old days. There’s some kind of crazy fondness for rain as I still feel the titillation when I smell and listen to the rain. Life is a little greener when it rains with all the drenched trees and hills, glistening wet roads reflecting lights from cars, and a pleasant petrichor.
That romantic walk in the drizzle with someone special.
That long drive on the highways with my favorite kind of music.
That tiny droplets sliding on the window panes of cars.
That brighter look of my city drenched completely in the rain.
Rain has unleashed the writer in me; it was my desire to express these feelings for rain that made me hold the pen. Its beauty made me an amateur photographer trying to capture how I see rain through my lenses.
Rain is what I consider to be the creative side of God. It is God’s way of sympathizing with people who are fighting a battle inside, and his way of filling colors to its creation once in a while.
I wrap up my love for rain with the hope that it will continue to be kind, as it has always been to me, and to everyone so that nobody loses their loved ones and possessions in floods. While I sleep peacefully listening to the rain, somewhere someone is awake praying for it to stop.
This article is submitted as a part of Nostalgic Article of the Month contest