The rain is beautiful because its fresh and new. its different from dawn, because the rain touches you, in a way the sunlight doesnt.
You hear the thunder and see the lightning, and you’re scared, but with the first drops of rain on your face, you forget your fear. It’s liberating. If you ever got wet in the first rains of the season, you know the feeling I’m talking about.
There’s something about the freedom of your parents letting you get wet in the rain, letting you do do this one crazy thing in an otherwise closeted childhood. Somehow you associate rain with freedom going onwards. It’s that bit of your childhood you can’t really let go of, and don’t want to in a sense.
Because, really, how many times in your post adolescent life have you really felt FREE?
I love the rain.
कड़वा सच है जिंदगी
हम पूछें इससे ज़रा
क्या मिलेगी वह हमे कभी?
(Inspired by Sharad Sen Sharma’s http://s3kavita.blogspot.com)
Came off a chat with a friend of mine, in the background of the UP elections and the story about the Samajwadi Party workers turning rowdy almost within an hour of their party winning a huge election victory.
Friend: Load kyon le raha hai, SP hai, hona hi tha.
Me: Kuch nahi ho sakta hai be desh ka.
Phir bhi sab kuch ho sakta hai.
India is such a contradiction.
From the archives:
Staring into those eyes
Immersed in their depths
underneath the stars that shone so bright
Only for her.
Caressing her hair
Like the wind
That seemed to stir
Only for her
Like the gentle lapping of the waves
on her feet
As the moon shone
by the shore
under the moon and the stars