‘Where’s the umbrella we bought yesterday?’ screamed the son. ‘We’ll take it when we go to the bus. Looks like it is raining.’ Sure, I said and looked into the closet. There it stood in a bright concoction of colors – red and yellow and blue and green, propped up against the wall to save itself from falling down. Was it afraid of falling down too, just like me?
As I stepped down with the son in tow and a few droplets of water hit my glasses, I realized rain had no such fear of falling down. All it had done all through its existence has been just falling down. Was it ever afraid of falling down? Was it ever given a chance to not fall down at all? How much must it hurt when it falls down every time?
I opened the umbrella to shield us from the rain. The umbrella which is afraid of falling down is actually helping protect us from the rain which knows nothing but falling down. Irony, I smiled at myself.
Bus came. Hugs were traded. Goodbyes were given. And, umbrella was closed. But, the rain didn’t stop. It never really stops, does it?
There’s something magical about getting wet in the rain. It’s as if you are having a silent conversation with nature. Sometimes, you think the sky is crying her heart out of misery. It’s as if you are holding a part of her in yourself and you are gently assuring her that things are going to be alright. Some other time, you hold her because you think her joy knew no bounds that it’s spilling out all over the earth. Rains always reflect your feelings. If you are happy, it is deliriously happy too. If you feel gloomy, it will be crying along with you. In a way, isn’t rain like your best friend who shares your feelings without asking any embarrassing questions?
There are tiny little droplets all over me. My glasses are hazy with water. Even through it, I can see a small boy looking at me with my closed umbrella, and give me a puzzled look. I look up at the sky. It’s a beautiful dark grey with a minuscule piece of sun peeking out of them. How much more longer is the sky going to make the rain dance? Where exactly from this massively wide sky does this rain come? Despite the evaporation and condensation and all the science logic, I cannot help wonder at the mystery of rains.
A virtuous circle of goodness, that’s what rains are. Rains makes me think of some people; good people. People who are not afraid of falling down. People who sometimes deliberately fall down so that they can be of some benefit to others. People who don’t speak a word of all the good they’ve given this world and yet continue to spread love and goodness until they are around. People with an aura so mysterious around them that you wonder if they are angels and fairies disguised as humans. How different are they from the falling rain?
As I enter the house and dust my feet on the doormat, I silently thank them; the rains and all the good people in the world. How long ago we all would’ve perished if not for both the rains and such selfless souls?