I stared out of the window at the bricks coloured wet, at the small puddle there, with its ripples merging into one whole stillness. Yes-it was finally raining; raining on memories, bringing their latent forces to life, raining on a water-starved nation, signifying a million prayers heard.
Strangely though, being someone from a place with rain for eight months in a year, I’ve never been able to sleep through the rain. Yesterday, I lay awake in my bed, not even knowing that it was raining, showing that it was a pretty unconscious thing. But as I stared out at the dismal sky and imagined the pleasurable cold and the smell of fresh earth being wet, I thought that it was a memory-happy or sad-that kept me awake, and that nature wanted me to sing to its tune. I wondered about the nights I lay marvelling at the beauty of it all, the mystery, and others when I cried along with the rain. A thousand memories swam back into my head, and the emotion overwhelmed me. It was then that I realised that the power of nature was not just to tear through mighty kingdoms, but even to come in and tweak the minds of the common man. It was selfless and mature, in not caring to correct what we thought about it, and allowing us freedom in our thinking about it. It taught us to laugh and to cry, to see the thirst in every heart and have mercy, and to shine the sun on both the good and the evil equally. For a pretty fierce person, nature has a lot to teach.
Strange though, that I haven’t been able to sleep through the rain.