Stopping by the woods, on a rainy evening

It is strange... the memories that rain brings back. I distinctly remember four. The first one was when I was an enthusiastic kid at home. A kid of protective parents. A kid who had just learnt how to ride a big bicycle. A kid who didnt know about Murphy and his godforsaken laws (the smartass laws that explain everything. I have a bone to pick with him, but let us not go there now). It so happened, that on a cloudy afternoon after school, I decided to practice riding my newly acquired bicycle. The Mom warned me to stay within the 3 roads that were partly responsible for our locality address. I promised. I did not obey. So here I was, a good mile away from my lakshmanrekha, when it started pouring so hard, that nobody would dare to venture on the road. I waited. Scared. Of Mom. Scared of her being worried, and then getting angry. Scared, of the rain (c'mon, I was a kid!). And when the rains refused to give way for half an hour, I rode through the downpour, on empty roads, soaked and shivering. Needless to say, Mom didnt have many nice things to say. I also remember the issuance of no-bike rule for a good week or so. That was the rain that made my heart shiver.

Then there was this once, in Singapore, where two people sneaked out of hostel in the wee hours of morning, to walk to the beach and see the sunrise. Yes it sounds all good right now, but wait till the sun rises. Which was... never! Dawn brought with it grey clouds, thunder and rain. And as if early morning rain wasnt cold enough, add to it the sea breeze. The freezing sea breeze! Running from shelter to shelter, finally standing in a phonebooth, waiting for the rain to stop. A weird combination of cold and nervousness. Anyway. It passed. Walked back, all drenched. Changed, and slept through the day. This is a good 7 years back, yet the memory is so fresh. So soaking fresh.

Somewhere over the years, I started disliking rain. Gloomy. Inhibiting. Lazy. Those were my common complaints. I guess because I rarely had the time to be lazy during my student years. Rarely had the privilege of doing the proverbial curling-into-bed-with-a-book on a rainy afternoon. Damn those writers for putting these images in our head! But the last time I went home, I loved the rain. It was poetic and romantic. Soft clouds on mountains, good food at home, long drives with friends. That is what I call a break.

The most recent rain-induced memory is from Hong Kong. The typhoon season in September. A sunday morning, with typhoon signal #3. Waking up to the howling wind and white nothingness outside my window. Drifting into sleep again. Waking up imagining that it was all a dream. Strange, it was.

There is a certain quality about rain that makes it bearable, despite it hindering mobility. Despite it being gloomy and lazy. Despite it being unpredictable. And that is the ability to cleanse. A good downpour, and even the streets of Calcutta start looking clean to me! Yes, that clean. It refreshes. It washes away. And that, precious, we like!