A nostalgic rain poem by Soumya, an autobiographical rendition of various times and places, in Different Truths.
Sitting on the balcony, watching the distant sea go gray and mist over,
The rains are approaching.
The dark clouds are scurrying over
A gust of wind, raindrops splattering on my face, my glasses get cloudy
A slight shiver, it’s chilly.
The vision is blurred, I’m getting wet
I’m going back to other rains, other places, blurred now, misted by time;
Dancing on the terrace, with my babies, in their chaddhies
Dragging their reluctant mom as well, and once, their grand mom
Who was just waiting to be called, so as not to seem unseemly?
Adolescence, crouching under a balcony, waiting for a bus,
Sharing an umbrella, wishing the bus never comes
Later, leaving the auto to walk on the beach in the rain
Making an excuse that we couldn’t get any rickshaws.
Later still, on a hilltop in Himachal, caught in a thunderstorm,
Soaked to the bone, my little baby on my shoulder,
Holding the hand of the older child, running to find shelter,
Cursing the idea of trekking with kids
Then, sheltered in a little hut by a fire,
Wrapped in the owner’s dirty old blanket
Thinking of what a great adventure we’ve had!
Another rain; graying now, me and my wife
Getting soaked in our driveway, refusing to go in
Neighbours’ comment- married people don’t behave like this
Now, my babies have grown up and flown the nest.
The childhood memories – shadow like figures in the rain
My companion of so many rains- occupied by her own life and work
I stand alone in the wind, the spray wetting my face
Washing away traces of any other moisture.
Photos from the internet.
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