That Time of The Year

 

Once again it’s that time of the year when the clouds of darker shades start covering the sky. The smell of newly wet earth fills your senses; birds you never see through the years fill the world around you with their excitement. It’s that time when the six-year-old wants to run away to the neighboring orchards to reclaim his mossy throne in the shadowy world. It’s that time of the year when the teenager wants to go back to his bedroom window where he can spend the lazy afternoon watching the non-stop rain drops. It is that time of the year when newly adult wants to walk under the shared umbrella – shoulder to shoulder – dreaming about the world he wants to create.

 

Monsoon Clouds

It’s been quite some time that I didn’t find any reason to complain about life. Wherever I went, I felt it’s a party arranged by you. The life seems so full that all the pains find no reason for their existence. Standing under the grey canopy – absorbing the ballad of life around – never saw it coming. The gust of wind caught me full on. Lurking behind the unseen dark corners of room, they swept me off. With no apparent reason – it wrings the heart out. Tide after tide of melancholic memories, flashing faces and familiar voices calling. Shakings legs want to give away – head spinning. As if perched on the threshold of a huge time gateway – seeing the past and present swirling together.

Nostalgic Rain

Weary eyes tries to shut down – in its last-ditch effort to break away from all that’s around; a desperate effort to curl inside the shell; frantically trying to hold onto something – someone – in that madness. Then a sudden feeling – a droplet lands on the face – and then another. The waiting skins absorb them and the droplets find their way to the heart. The monsoon kisses assure – the lips slowly curls back. The wind still there, but the accompanying drops of nectar embrace. Sanity claws back – the soaked eyes open to welcome the washed off world.

 

It is that time of the year once again – when it’s hard to reign in the romantic heart. The Eternal Romantic once again rides on his optimism.  It is that time of the year again, when memories run amuck. It is that time of the year again when eyes can only see love around. The soul feels the passion that was and that still is – feels the romance that was and what can never die. It is that time of the year when rain comes dancing back to life.

 

Bristi! – Rain !

Bristi mane –
sheola makha ichche
smritir soNda gondho
na lekha kobita
bondho phoner ringtone
bus-stand-e bheja
premer dirghoswas
bheja balishe golpo
ek mutho kanna
jhilik mara asha
megher bhalobasa

Rain is –
Damp mossy wishes
Wet fragrance of memories
Unwritten poems
Dead phone’s ringtone
Soaking at a bus stand
Wanton sighs of love
Chatter over wet pillow
Fist-full of tear
Flashes of hope
Dark cloud’s love

Brishti Elo Jhepe – She never fails me!

And then to soothe the battered soul

And then with a plea for caress like a child

With the passion of sixteen year old

With hope and amour in her eyes she smiled

 

The sky starts crying and I am too,

Thinking of how I’m missing you.

I miss your hugs and gentle touch,

Unspoken words showing you care how much.

 

I cherish the way you kiss me and make me feel,

Waiting for you, yet I feel all your touches as real.

Now as I look up at the dark clouds above,

I’m thinking of you, and I think I’m still in love.

 

My hair is wet, my feet are wet,

I couldn’t be much wetter.

I fell into a river once

But this is even better.

****************************************************

 

Poyla Boishakh (Bengali New Year), and it rained. Brishti came to me, my year is made. I know whatever happens, she will be with me this time. While coming back, I absorbed her, and then in auto I started humming, first – “Bristi Bristi Bristi, se je kon oporup shrishti…”; and then as the rain intensified, another one in Bengali, and this time in full volume – “Ay bristi  jhepe, chal debo mepe…” The Auto driver either was fultu annoyed or took me for a madman. Its OK, as there’s few in this world who can match my madness…

 

 

 

My Clouds – My Rain

The shadowy reflection creeps

From the corner of the pond it sweeps,

As he lifts his little head for a clue

The dark sheet covers the blue

The cool wind caresses his curly hair

He smiles – the rain is here

 

The first drops tickle through his face

The musky aroma splashes his senses

Small hands rise towards clouds like slate

To grab the hands of his playmate

The shadow mixes with the green around

He runs with the rain, homeward bound

 

Rain drops clattering on tin roof, incessant and gay

Curling up to his mother on a moist rainy day

He looks out of the open gate

Little sparrow friend soaked with her mate

Shivering, looking for a cover so warm

He dreamt making their nest with charm

 

The water gathering on the lotus leaves

The shelter they made under the mango tree

Her smile slashing thick dark clouds, throwing thousand hues

Sound of a single trembling drop, with ceaseless rain in milieu

Little stretched hands on the window feeling

Digging heels in the slush playing and sliding

Child King comes back to life every time to surprise

When my rain my clouds come and I close my eyes

 

 

Joy – Adulterated

Since last couple of days I am in Bangalore (finally decided Blore to be my city, instead of Pune), and its rain. It seems every time I plan to come to B’lore, she decides to welcome me. I don’t mind… I don’t mind at all; she always brings me luck. Its “joy – unadulterated”? Or is it?

 

Rain, as I said, I don’t mind; it fills the air with romanticism; What I don’t like is slush, and mud and Jam. It took me 90 mins to travel the distance that usually takes 30 mins; and as a bonus I got sprayed by slush… brown dots on my moss green pants…dozed off in the Auto with Radio city bringing some relief with those wonderful rain songs.

 

Then, my soul traveled back 20 years. I remembered the rainy days when I was in school. It was fun, walking on the rain, jumping over the puddle (just remembered Dennis the menace – “Jumping over the puddle is always fun; you enjoy it more when you fail to clear it!”) Never minded the slush and mud, in fact used to love them. Even loved walking on waist deep water, holding the school bag on top of head, still reaching school, knowing that they will declare it a rainy day, and we will have some more fun walking back on that water… weeee! That was “Unadulterated Joy”; didn’t even mind all those garbage floating by while we pushed through the water, didn’t mind washing the uniform, after the scolding from ammi, after reaching back home. Because I knew it will be hot khichri and fried fish after that, and a peaceful afternoon nap with comics following.

 

Now I have office, preparing the plan for next two years, and sit for a presentation from the production team on what they want us to sell…

She Came !!

She came; she came yesterday! With all her beauty, love and elegance, she came. She came and caressed me all over; assuring that everything will turn out fine. She came with the blessings. The sweet tune of her dancing feet mesmerizing me; with the crest and fall of the music she danced.

 

She covered me with all her love, she kissed me all over with every falling drops. The wind swept her muslin hair across my face as I felt her fragrance. She took away my heat and tiredness, keeping only the warmth in my heart. My love came dancing from the sky with the smiles lighting the entire skyline, tearing it from one end to another. Drenched in the rain I stood still feeling the drops slipping down my body.

 

I knew she will come, I knew she cannot ignore my wandering thoughts. She came and assured me that all is well. With her beside me I once again set on my journey to take on the world as it comes, to glory and goal of peace.