[In re the heavy rains that lashed my city yesterday.
P.S. This is not the first time this has been put up on a blog since I didn't have one when I wrote it. Just saying.]
I am sitting by the window. It is raining and
I can feel the drops of water on my face. A drop trickles down my face and
falls on my hand. Memories of a time long forgotten, a childhood, not that far back
yet so unreachable, flood my mind. A sudden flashback of running through the
front garden and getting drenched in the rain in one of the many old British-style
houses that I lived in fills my mind vividly. Then another image, of my mother
shouting at me, asking me to come back.
What is
it about rain that always makes you sift through all those past memories that
in the humdrum of daily life become repressed in your subconscious?
Hailstones!
The initial excitement of listening to the exaggerated pitter-patter on the
roof as tiny lumps of ice fall on the ground. Running to the front verandah to collect
the ice faster than my brother. Images after images of those days, long past.
Of innocence, long gone. Of hope, long forgotten. Memories.
A song
comes to my mind. The song that was playing in the background when I shared an
umbrella with my first crush. I can almost feel my heart thundering, the way it
had thundered for those few precious stolen moments. Anticipation tugs at my
heart. And a certain melancholy. A sudden yearning to go back into those days
of sweet innocence, of glorious horizons and endless possibilities, of happy
dreams. Falling asleep near my mother. Playing with my brother. Not knowing the
feeling of apprehension. Where future is a bright happy place.
What is it about rain that
makes you remember?
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