I watch as the steady rain, falls softly.
The air inside this place, sticks to my skin, more than I am comfortable.
What is this barb in my heart that twists itself a little deeper on days like this?
Is it the memory of me as a child, in a different house, watching orange lightening flash across the sky, while thunder made the building quake and the gale sang disconcertingly outside the shutters?
I fell in love with storms the first time it happened.
But maybe, it’s the hailstorm I got caught in once, while I rode my bike on empty roads, on a dark and cloudy afternoon.
Wondering why the roads were that empty, till it hit me, quite literally, icily and hard.
Perhaps it’s the memory of cold wind that whipped against me as I tried to get out of a shallow stream I had managed to stumble into,
A muddy stream that bubbled through orange glades laden with old grass and sheep
Or of the days when I returned from school, jumping into every puddle I could find.
Or the rainwater my aunt collected one summer, just so I could bathe in it, because I thought water falling from the sky was magic.
Maybe it’s the time when I took that long drive with my parents, on the long sea road, and a rain storm hit the coast and the car windows wouldn’t close
And I took my head out and let the water drench me through and through
Or the time when I ate half ripe mangoes with red chilli powder, while taking a walk in a misty hill station, under a black umbrella, trying not to drop my cheap camera.
All memories from so long ago and so many places.
But then again, maybe, really, it’s you.