Overcast

One day, the onset of the afternoon was not in its usual colours. I slid
the two wine-coloured curtains apart to reveal the glass of the
sliding doors behind. I switched off the LED bulb which illuminated a
mild crystal white light. The disappearance of the artificial light
allowed the clouded light of the sun to play a more active role.

I stood for a while to prolong a brief moment of peace, before I got
back to why I was in the room in the first place, to get scissors. I
was in the other room when I had a need for them which led me here. I
took out the old tailors’ scissors from the drawer, they were so old,
I sometimes wish to keep it out there for display and perhaps one day
I will.

As I was pondering in the momentary thought with the scissor in my
hand, to my right the view outside the sliding doors suddenly became
covered with thousands of raindrops following their way down from the
sky, over the world that existed on the ground. They left their
presence visible over almost everything they touched, until all the
presence slowly collected into a singular presence in the form of the
outside the world is becoming drenched.

I closed the drawer and kept the scissor on the table. Then I
approached the falling sound of the rain outside. It was enchanting
and nostalgic at the same time.

I felt my existence escape to a memory and I felt the entire world
around me change along with my physical self and instead of the
sliding doors, there was an open window, it had grills which were
painted black. It was still raining outside; the light was struggling
even more to push its way down. I placed my small hands on the grill
of the window. The rain was gaining in vigour and its drops had
started to touch my hands and they even entered the room to reach out
to my presence. It was one of the initial houses of my life, when my
parents were still settling down in their professions.

I heard the sound of approaching footsteps and I remembered whose they
were and why they were here. It was my mother who was here to close
the window to stop the raindrops of the heavy rain outside from
further into the room, she did so in every room when the rainfall
became heavy. However, I would still take a moment standing near the
closed window, listening to rain sing to the world with its fall.

Rain is the same everywhere to most people, an inconvenience to those
who have to leave home to follow their purpose, and for others, a time
of peace enjoyed in the comfort of home, along with music, snacks and
a cup of tea or coffee.

The world around me changed once more and there was no door or a
window, I was covered but the view in front was clear, with nothing
but trees and other buildings of the apartment. I would often stand
here with my maternal grandfather and enjoy the rain. He would mention
several songs and other forms of writings which the rains had inspired
in people throughout history. A cassette of songs was specifically
kept for playing using the tape recorder, whenever it rained.

Next, the change came once more and I was standing in the rain, there
was nothing around to cover me, except for the ground below which was
perhaps as rejoiced as I was at the touch of the raindrops. The garden
It looked like everything tree and plant in it would get up and start
dancing if they could. My worried paternal grandmother would rush out
from the room to hold my hand and pull me inside where a dry towel and
dry clothes awaited my arrival.

My world returned to where I was and I stood with many stories,
moments and people gone by. If I went out in the rain right now. Will
Can anyone come to me I wonder? Will anyone still understand the child
inside me who becomes happy at the sound of rain.

The meaning of watching the rain and enjoying its essence had been
different for me from place to place and it had also changed over the
time. I may not enjoy it in the same manner anymore, but I enjoy it
nonetheless and maybe one day I may also share the same care that was
shown to me to someone who is watching the rain or is standing in it.

Written by Anuran Chatterji

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