Rain

Its raining like hell over here right now and personally, I’m Loving It™. Whenever it rains I so uncharacteristically happy, especially when I just get up from sleep and its raining. When I was eight or nine years old this was a good sign cause it meant I could bunk school! Even now I love to get up to the sound and, for people who have the ability, smell of rain. I love it in the summer cause it’s a relief from the heat and it helps me be more observant to other things that usually I would pass by without a second glance.

The only time I don’t like the rain ironically, is in the monsoons. During this time the streets of Calcutta get flooded and it’s a pain to walk through them. However I love the rain every other time.

Whenever it rains I feel like all of my faults and problems get washed away, and more importantly, I feel so childlike. If its raining you will either find me sitting inside cross legged on the floor/sofa/chair/bed, drinking a hot cup of chocolate milk right in front of the window wishing I was outside or you will find me outside just standing still getting wet in the rain and loving every moment of it! Usually after such excursions I catch a cold, so sometimes I go for the third alternative, sleep on the couch curled up like a cat.

There are some people who hate the rain, some people who feel sad in the rain. I feel really bad for these people. The hate the rain and feel sad when they get wet cause there is no one who will cover them up, hold their hand, or even scold them because they will catch a cold. The feel lonely cause there is no one to give them a hand, or even care what happens to them. My cousin taught me this lesson when I was eleven.

He came down from Bangalore that time over to my place for the winter vacations cause he was bored of going to Kerela all the time. Now my cousin was, mind you was, now he looks terribly unfit, a Chick Magnet. He had enough charm in him to make girls follow him even when he was in his pajamas! ( We actually tried that when were going all around Calcutta in those horrible white pajamas and every girl he spoke to seemed to have a rise in there hormone levels while talking to him) Now one fine day this cousin of mine and me were stuck in December rain, we were at this roll shop in the Barracks area, I still love the egg rolls from that shop. While I was busy munching on my eggroll-with-no-onion rings, my cousin spotted this young girl who I swear looked like that girl-whose-name-i-cant-remember-now from the trio in that cartoon series Ninja Robots. Anyways, point being this girl was getting wet in the rain and you could make out that she was crying. My cousin, being the charmer and idiot he is( I could have sworn I saw from a distance a man who was eying them suspiciously and looked very much like her father…) went and offered jacket to her and offered to buy her a cup of tea. While she drank her tea she told her story, which I can’t remember now because I was watching this drunk man getting slipping on a puddle and falling every time he tried to get up, however I did get something about her being unhappy cause no one loved her, and her thinking about running away etc. etc. While she said this I could see the familiar “rise” in hormone levels all to clearly because of the “rain” (usually I would have stared like a kid stares at ice cream, but I was sensible enough to know I was supposed to play the part of the sweet younger brother, so I cast downcast eyes and employed a crimson blush to my ears) there was however a slight difference that even an idiotic dimwit of a kid like me could pick up was that there was a difference in her voice, the way she looked, the movement of her hands etc. she seemed happier, and even though she was talking about her problems, she didn’t seem troubled, but rather relived.

When it rains upon you, if there is some one who covers you up and scolds you for getting wet, don’t ever let that person go. These are the people who are the reason why you enjoy getting wet.

The ramblings of an unstable and emotional mind.

If you want to get to the point directly, skip the first two paragraphs, its filled with utter nonsense.

Recently I was bored and frustrated in a small corner of Kerela in a small town called Quttor (Kuu-ttooo-rrr) usually when this happens I usually head out to the one place that helps me let loose some steam- The Terrace. Now the unique thing about our terrace is that its surrounded by trees usually hanging over the terrace, and any wires leading to the terrace such as the cable wire or the telephone wire are covered with creepers. A very pretty sight I must say, and its here where I just sit and absorb my surroundings, look at the unpolluted sky that shows at least forty five to fifty stars, and let my imagination flow. This place is very special to me cause it was here I took my decision to write again.
Well here I am looking at those stars and felling very ticked off. I had just received a lecture from my dad over not getting into the Kerela mood and not visiting every godforsaken relative I have. Not that I have anything against my relatives, I can bear them to the extent I can bear my parents, (who by and large are unbelievably less irritating than most of my relatives) and I seem to get along with my girl cousins pretty well cause I act as charming as possible and therefore am a breather from most dudes (the E is silent by the way, I only added it so that people of a certain region I’m native to don’t get offended) in Kerela. The point being my nearest relative lives around 78 kilometers away and I really can’t be bothered to show my face there every second day.

Well that night had me all confused and I couldn’t let loose all the steam I had built up within me, so I called up a friend of mine to irritate her and tell her how ticked off I was. The moment she picked up the phone I started rambling of my problems without giving her much of a chance to speak. (I usually do that when I’m ticked, erm…come to think of it even when I’m not ticked..) when she finally spoke I noticed a hint of sadness/despair in her voice. I asked her what the problem was and she told me that her grandmum had passed away around three days before. I stopped talking and felt like an idiot for being so preoccupied with my own problems and frustrations that I don’t give people a chance to tell me their own problems. Usually people like to tell me all about there problems cause I’m supposed to be a good listener (god only knows who thinks like that!), but usually these problems are something minor like heartbreak or unfaithful love and stuff like that. When it comes to serious stuff like death, etc. before I allow them to speak I usually start rambling of some small problem of mine and end up feeling like an idiot for doing so. She told me that she had passed away in her sleep, so it was peaceful and one without pain. I tried my best to console her but I messed up as usual (I have a name at school, Mr. F&#$ Up…) after talking for sometime I cut the line and sat down on the floor. I began to think about death, closeness to death and how much of an ass I had been while trying to deal with all of it.

My first brush with death had been when I was eight years old, it was my mum’s dad. We were close but not very, he preferred his sons’ children more than me. I liked him a lot because he taught me how to make pea shooters and fire them accurately. At his funeral there were a lot of watery eyes but I think I was the only one present there who didn’t shed a single tear.

My next brush was when I was eleven, it was my best friend’s dad. He was a really nice man and was a lot of fun to be with. He died because of an automobile accident and I remember seeing him the morning before the accident happened, he was shaving and drinking coffee at the same time. I still laugh whenever I remember the scene. After he died my best friend moved to the states and I haven’t seen him since. I also remember the call that I received by my other best friend/brother, I didn’t cry when I received the news..

When I was twelve I started serving under the good lord in our church and was the youngest deacon there. Because I was the youngest I used to get scolded by all of the other senior deacons. There was this one particular deacon who was eight years older than me, who was the only one who never scolded me. We were pretty close and used to share a lot of jokes together. In the following year he went to another state to study and there he died out of cancer.

Fourteen…hmmm… a milestone age. This was the year when I first experienced a lot of new things that was commonplace as a teenager. Towards the end of the year, my landlady, a sweet old lady who loved me more than my grandmother did, will and ever shall. This sweet old lady could have averted death, the only problem was that her relatives didn’t want her to live so the took her to the hospital at the last moment. I felt more angry than sad at her death and took my frustrations out by punching the wall till my hand bled.

At sixteen I never experienced the death of any one close to me, but I did see my friends father, a friend who was my new second best friend cause he helped me and supported me when I was going through a difficult period of time. His father is suffering from a brain hemorrhage and I had seen him only once and that was when he was fit and fine. Seeing him again in such a state with one half nearly in paralysis broke me, but I didn’t cry.

A few days before coming here I was chatting with a very young and cute friend of mine from somewhere in the states, I was rambling like usual and I felt like an idiot again cause she told me right just then that her best friend was suffering from Cancer. I tried consoling her but all I could do was tumble in my own words.

In all of these incidents I never cried once, maybe its because I’m a selfish pig, I don’t know. I tried slitting my wrists when I was twelve and that was also because of a very selfish reason. In fact till now all I’ve done is written about me, count the number of “I”s. that night was different however, I sat down and cried. I cried for forgiveness, I cried for everyone I knew who was suffering, and I cried for everyone who had died before and I never thought much of.

This is my plea, please be different. Don’t be like me and only feel sad selfishly. Take time to listen to others and for god’s sake remember that there are people who have problems way greater than you do.

It’s time we stopped being selfish.