Monsoon Wash.

I was standing on my terrace getting wet in the rain feeling foolish,feeling happy, feeling sad. My love affair with the rains always does this to me every monsoon, makes me step out of the four walls of my dwelling. I want to write to my paramour, the rain, but words fail me. William Shakespeare so easily said,”Words are easy, like the wind”, but for lost lovers like me “Words don’t come easy to me”( F.R. David), but feelings do, as easy as the rain. I am overwhelmed with feelings, like a tidal wave all my love surges with the wind for a last embrace of rain. The heavy downpour drenches me completely, and I can only think of two words, monsoon – wash ! This will be my little ode to the season I love the most, monsoon.

All shades of grey lazily float above us .The clouds are in no rush to retreat and the sun is happy hiding behind this grey slate. This is the season for love songs on radio, rain dances, muddy feet, playful children, sharing umbrellas, soaked clothes, holding hands, garam pakoras, steaming tea, a romantic novella and poetry and then some more poetry. To have loved and lost or never loved at all ; to have lived for love or left for love ; there is poetry in everything in these rain soaked days. Then why does my mind mock me for being blind in love. Love and hate has easily learnt to coexist in these troubled times. There is no poetry in wrath and blood shed. There is no romance in war. The war orchestrated by selfish few but the price of which is paid by all. Humanity is stained and shamed .Yet monsoon comes periodically offering to wash it all away. The strength of this beautiful rain we know not yet . It can evoke emotions far stronger than the gentle drops of rain.

Monsoon washes away the dust laden branches of the trees. Monsoon washes away the earths crust. It washes away a lot more than our naked eyes can perceive or see. Monsoon washes away my mind of all grime. Each drop of rain washes away my pain, my agony, my cunning, my anger, my guilt, my giving and my misgivings. Bathed in relentless rain I stand up as new as an olive branch. As every blade of green glisten in freshly bathed splendor, and every waterfall gushes down with youthful bounty , my being too feels cleansed of old rusted chained marks of time. Come forth and bathe with me, bathe in this pure ecstasy of freedom. Freedom from the clutches of shame and defeat, for you and I are born of the same pain. Let the monsoon drench you and me alike.

I do not draw the curtains when I go sleep, for every morning I want to wake up seeing the curtain of rain pouring on the other side of my glass window. I want to feast in this beauty of dark grey clouds and torrential rain. The clouds don’t threaten me with gloom. Clouds are messengers of good news, they quench the thirst of parched earth, mind and soul. Grey is somber, wise and pregnant with the dew drops of life. In contrast all other shades of the spectrum may seem bright and joyful, yet so dull would their sheen be if they couldn’t pride to be fairer than grey ! So grey delights me . Grey roars in thunder like the deepest cord of a symphony. The thunderous rain which pelts down upon me from the heaven of grey above washes away all my rigid believes of sin and the sinner.

But darker than all the shades of grey and black remains the darkness of the human mind. All the rain on earth will not wash away the blood soaked patches of human treachery. Blinded by his own doings man sees not the opportunity to wash away all that hurts.The real magic will happen when man will learn to cleanse himself from deep within. Till then nature continues to shower love on man unconditionally. The lakes are overflowing into the rivers and the rivers are gurgling down to the sea, their cup of joy is filled to its brim. The ocean swells with pride .The fields sway once more with lush green crop. The thirsty earth will no more threat to crack apart. The roots have run deep ,drunk in nectar, holding each grain of soil in its strong grip. Only if man could learn to hold on to his values, goodness, and humanity with the same strong grip.

As I bid goodbye to the last drops of rain, my tears of joy and pain mingle together with the rain. Salt and rain flow down unashamedly, and I make no attempt to hide .I stand getting drenched as rain falls through my hair, my forehead, my cheek, then softly, gently caressing my lips they fall at my feet for one last time. My love with rain will come back to me another day , another place, another time. Monsoon wash perhaps will one day wash away all our troubles in an utopian way. Till that day I shall stand and wait, drenched but feeling pure and beautiful and singing “sawana gagane ghor ghana ghata…”.