Rains in the City

 ‘Why do you love the rains so much?’

They often ask me this;

A tropical sun comes back to mind -

Of course, the rains bring bliss

Home was a land once steamed with heat,

Repose in the Arabian breeze,

A crack of thunder thus brought joy

And the nimbus clouds, some peace

‘They liberate you,’ I utter soft,

My mind still in the past,

I see the city from my thirteenth floor - 

The rains have conquered fast

Who then to stop the child inside?

He scrambles to the street,

The gulmohurs share his summer joy,

The amaltas his heartbeat

Sometimes the rains were an excuse even

To skip work for a break,

A cycling trip to the Kanheri Hills,

Or the Necklace, or the Lake

Or just lie down in the gardens green

And watch the rains come down

And the world could fade in the lullaby rains - 

The men, the din, the town

After the drenched clothes and the souls,

At home, a cup of tea,

To watch the last rains cool the earth,

The porch, a book, and me

Yes, I sieve the diamonds from the dirt,

The memories let me play:

And the indigo clouds roll time-again,

The City, on a rainy day

Have you seen it too, the play of the rains?

Did you drench, and play your part?

If a distant thunder makes you brood,

Then a drop still hangs to your heart…

Impending rains, at the Sanjay Gandhi National Park

There’s joy in the tropic rains, who can deny that? And when you drench in them , again and again,  the canvas becomes indelible, perennial the art. Every brush stroke will tell a story therein, the thin ones a drizzle by the lake, the thick ones a deluge in the hills. Back in Mumbai, you didn’t have to go far to find a sliver of this cloudburst - and what an equalizer it was, the rich getting stranded in their BMWs, the urchins playing with glee.I still remember how invigorating - and surprising - the memories were! Walking in the rains from work one day, I remember the road ending in a sharp rocky hill through which a little cataract descended impishly. Then, going to Borivilli, armed with a presentation to improve microfinancing profits, I was stunned to see lavish green hills just behind the corporate towers, all glistening in an evening shower, lavished with ethereal waterfalls, the spectacle as if, tied in a bouquet of love with a sparkling rainbow! Then going to the world’s largest urban national park (national park ensconced in a city), the Sanjay Gandhi National Park, just to cycle in the rains and then feel humbled by the towering Buddhist statues almost a millennium old. Or to stay at home, but prance to the rooftop garden to lie in a bed of manicured grasses and watch the rains come down all too slowly, as if time itself  was entranced by the rains...

I can go on writing a book with my memories, but the summary lies in the fact that the memories still seem timeless, as if they happened this afternoon. In a temperate land, where the sun is worshipped, the rains are not a people’s champion. That is natural. What is not, is to find a poet walking in the cold rains, drenching bit by bit, pensively unbothered to open his brolly. Friends often ask why. I smile. It’s not the frosty chill that matters, what does is to find even in that cold winter rain, an old friend, a smiling ally who turns up unexpectedly to stir the memories of the heart, and talk of old times - a timeless tale that almost always opens with: ‘Once upon a time, there were rains in the city…’

5th September, 2020