Saturday, June 14, 2008

Rain and the Sacrifice

Rain is something darling and dear to my heart. It reminds me of romance, my romance with life. The vista of rain, the smell of it, the feel of it, is so mesmerizing that I forget the present and take a leisurely stroll in the past. When my mum was not as old and when my father did not have gray hair, when my brother was as little as he could be, when I did not dance around on the tune of the clock, the time. When it hardly mattered what others thought of me and life was something so obvious that there was no shadow of death. Rain reminds me of that time.

I would hold to the railing of my balcony and look up at the skies when it rained. The rain water would plummet from the roof. Sometimes like a waterfall, sometimes like the water stream that trickled down from the common water tap we had. But it had the motion. It made me feel I am moving. In reality rain drops were moving and I was where I was. Isn’t that a simile of life? I feel it is. We interpret things around us and think we are making them happen. In reality it’s just a feel that we get. Things move as destined. Yes, destined. Some call it god, some call it superpower. I call it destiny. Like the rain water that poured down from the roof.

The rain also reminds me of my Sindabad dreams, making paper boats and watching them disappear as the rain water carried them to their destiny, probably some sewer. But that never mattered to me. What mattered to me was making those boats and seeing them off. Giving myself a ride of lifetime in my mind, all the unseen places and people that I wanted to see. I would think the boat would take me there, to the land of the Gulliver and The Lilliputians, the Cinderella, the Mickey Mouse and the Donald Duck, the land of the Panchatantra, where animals talked like I did.

Who can deny the age old connection between the rain and the school? It did start on 13th of June those days. I can still smell the new books and the notebooks with brown covers, the raincoat and the gumboots, the uneasy feeling of the end of the holidays, the necessity to attend the school, at the same time, eagerness to meet the friends?

When it rained the other day, I was under my own steam on the road, inhaling the fragrance of the rain and remembering what a little princess I was, when I could. I had the umbrella, but didn’t care to use it. What mattered to me was meeting the rain, my friend from yesteryears, like a true friend, arm in arm. I was lost in myself, the world resembled heaven that day and I discerned something from the corner of my eye.

A child was sitting on the side of the road, begging. The child must have been the same age of me, when I was that little princess, trying to cover his head with a newspaper, a mere newspaper. There I was in front of him, drenched in water from heat to toe, enjoying the rain, my umbrella nicely folded and enjoying warmth of my handbag. There was a sudden strike of lightening in my head. What would this child remember of the rain when he will be my age? Will he survive to be my age? Will he get enough charity to sustain, so many more rains?

Where must he be staying? Some illegal slum, which would be hardly enough to sustain in the torrential rains that we have? Maybe something he may call his house, is already listed as illegal and to be taken down by the government. May be he is the one, who will strengthen the foundation of the so called Mumbai turned Shanghai.

What is his fault? That he was born in this country where, there are too many people, so that a single child cannot get special attention. That his country is democracy which doesn’t move, till it forgets why it wanted to move? Because India is on it’s way to become an economic superpower? And it’s a road of rich? Where rich will get richer and poor would become poorer?

As I thought about that child, people from the prosperous India, from their air conditioned cars and residential towers, in unison started shouting. Someone has to sacrifice. Someone has to sacrifice.

I just nodded to myself and reiterated. Someone has to sacrifice and that is him.

How beautiful was the rain!!


Monsieur K said...

A touching post...

Anand Sarolkar said...


suchiti said...

I like rain too.Its really
beautiful wording.
Keep writing and enjoying the rain...

Deep said...

Now this is what I'll call spirit... touching post like this can lead to some action in right direction.

I liked two beutiful senteces: making paper boats and watching them disappear as the rain water carried them to their destiny,>>What mattered to me was making those boats and seeing them off. It is so simple... do your job honestly without looking for returns! As usual great work keep posting :)