Skip to main content

will it rain today?

The evening is cut short by heavy dark clouds. Will it rain today?

I wish it rains today. After may be two-three years, I am in a mood to enjoy the rainfall. When I was in Shillong, it was a headache. Because it always rain there. There was nothing new in it. Cherapunjee, which receives the highest rainfall in the world, is only 40 km from Shillong.

But will it rain today in Bangalore? May the Rain-Goddess be kind to the city today; Let it rain cats and dogs. I am in a mood to immerse myself in the music. May be, who knows, if mood permits, I will run to the terrace and not leave until I feel I have caught a really bad cold and going to fall sick soon. But I am in a mood to be the instrument, let the raindrops strike the chord in me. I will sing today. Will it rain today?

It’s long since I didn’t attempt to write a poem. I have lost touch with my mother-tongue Bengali. I want to write in Bengali today. For that I need to open myself. Let my pores absorb the music of a drizzle. Let the Rain-Goddess bless Bangalore today. Will it rain today?

I remember, when we were kids, me and my sister, we used to beg father to let us bunk our studies and enjoy the rainfall. The pungeant smell of freshly-drenched earth reminded us the smell of mother. The all reassuring smell!

Me and Jhumu, our nose poking outside the window used to inhale the most fragrant perfume in earth. It was not enough for us. As if we wanted to bottle the perfume and keep it at our bedside. It was a strange smell; it was a strange experience, a strange feeling. I always wanted to run out of the house and never return. I wanted to break free every time the smell invaded the whole earth.

Our face hard-pressed against the iron grill, we used to see the distant light in the lamppost getting hazier. Soon it used to shine like a holy man’s ring. Our eyes ... round, wide open, fresh, eager, moist, were filled with dreams. Dreams of growing up soon. We would then reach that lamppost and touch the holy ring, without getting scolded by parents.

We were spell-bound by the small rivers and springs and pools formed here and there. Who knew, that curve where I peed everyday, and that crack which I passed everyday without even noticing had such potential. Who knew that they were a piece of art waiting to be carved out? Soon we would wonder seeing the heavy rains inundating the nearby fields and making everyplace “water water everywhere”. We were the favorites of the rain Goddess. Soon she used to fill our hearts with so much joy that we, me and my sister Jhumu, used to hold our hands and dance and sing. Our stock was very little and often we ended up singing our national anthem…without giving a damn of maintaining a proper etiquette. As the rain transformed the earth, many a times we transformed our national anthem, a must to learn and thus the only full song in our collection, into rock-and-roll thingy.

And there was music, a tune; the notes of which I have forgotten as soon as I grew up. The notes, which I used to effortlessly relate to, and which used to make me somber. I have forgotten them. I am desperately searching for the notes one more time.

Oh! When did I grow up? Why did I grow up? Why?

I know, I am a sinner now and the Rain Goddess won’t let me get atune to her. She is now striking the hearts of her new aficionados; somebody somewhere on earth has now pressed his/her face against the window and watching the distant lamppost. The holy man’s ring of light.

But at least, I will try to recollect the notes. I will pray to her today. I will put all my vileness, schemes, meanness and perjury behind and again will press my face against the grill today. Let the thunderbolt strike it. Let there be no chance of escape. Who wants to escape to return to this world of futility? If She forgives me and claims me back with her blaze, I will be the most happiest. I will get back my notes. This time I can really touch the holy man’s ring. Without anybody objecting. Earlier it was father who prevented me going out. Now it was me, the clever and practical me. The foolish me.


Ah! Finally, I will get rid of myself!! What a relief!


But, will it rain today?

Comments

Yves said…
Oh the rain! We have it here this morning and I went out recording ten minutes of it, and the bubbling of the overflowing stream and the rain dripping from trees and so forth. I want to send you my .mp3 recording but it's 7 megabytes, more than I can record on either of my websites.

So may the Rain Goddess give you her blessings and wash away those sins which bother you so much.
Nautilus said…
It rained here today...which is nothing new really...it rains for 9 months here! Over the years I've forgotten how to enjoy or romanticize the rain! It always drizzles...rarely pours! I miss the rumbling monsoon clouds darkening the horizon and the sharp smell of the soaked earth after the first rain...ohhh Ghetu, now you've made me all sentimental :-( I'm actually contemplating a post on my craving for Mushuri'r daal and kurkurey aloo bhaja!!
Ghetufool said…
yves,
i also recorded the pitter patter of rain. but wish you could send your mp3 file to me. i very much like to know how it sounds in your country. is it the same?
Ghetufool said…
nautilus,
i will be waiting for your post. you know what mushuri and kurkure aloo bhaja is also my favourite. whenever i go home, i tell maa to cook those for me.
Very evocative post. Do you know there's a word to describe that particlar smell of the Earth after it rains? Petrichor.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Petrichor
I miss the kal baiskahi and mushol dhare brishti in Calcutta. Ekhane orokom hoy na.
Ghetufool said…
Petrichor! whoaw! thanks a lot.
Shuv said…
sho(n)da gondho..for the bloody bongs..bestest smell 'in the whole wide world'...
kaushik said…
I just got the shoNda gondha today. First drops of rain on a parch dusty red soil.
Ace of Spades said…
so did it rain or not???
Anonymous said…
Rain in the morning...
Rain in the night....
Why make my day a real pain....


Rain in the night....
Never see u anymore....
Please fall ,so i can sleep tight...
ghetufool said…
:-)
nice

Popular posts from this blog

Kaun banega karorpati...dwitiya

--Namaste, satsriakaal, aadab, mein amitabh bacchan aapke samne, leke hajir hua hu, phir ek bar, kaun banega karorpati dwitiya.
(audiences in dark start clapping along with a music as if crusader king Richard of England just captured the castle of a jehadi king)
Aaj, mere samne beithe hai Jarshad kakiara…kakku…cuckoo…
(a club-shaped man intervenes, with a child-like smile, “Kakkrakandy”)
Ji haa, kakkara (“kandy”, the man again intervenes with a shy smile)
-Yes, Jarshad kakk…, whatever, aiye aap aur hum khele yeh adbhut game, jiska naam hei …(looks at the club-shaped man)
Jarshad Kakkrakandy, answers “kauun banayega karrorrpatti”

Amitabh shows Jarshad the seat, adjusts the seat for him. Jarshad sits, the chair shrieks.

--aur abhi mere samne baithe hain Jarshad n. k., from Chennai, who is a journalist with reuters, loves reading dilbert, unka favourite movie hai “chandramukhi”. And he is the self-proclaimed ‘king of PJ’.

--Haan to Jarshad saab, aapne likhe hein ke apke naam hei Jarshad n.k. now …

On Mithi

I became a father on 18 November, 2014. At that moment when fatherhood embraced me, perhaps I should have been elated, jumping up and down and doing all sort of activities that new fathers do, at least, that's what most sane people do. But nothing of that sort happened to me. When I heard my baby's voice, first like an angry cat and then a mild wail wafting across the operation theatre to the waiting area where we all were pacing up and down, the first thought that hit me was how was my wife? It was a C-section and she was partially unconscious. I should not have read Internet too much, for I was reading all sorts of horror stories, of mothers not waking up or recovering etc. I was petrified as I was not hearing my wife's voice. The doctors and sisters inside the operation theater must have been very busy with their other procedures. In fact, after bringing out the baby from the womb, they were busy closing the cut, I later got to know.
The realisation of becoming a fathe…

The Sculptor's Tale

(Note to readers ... mainly Ian, who is the only one who reads this blog >> i just finished writing this in office. didn't even re-read it after writing, forget editing. Expect a leaner/fatter and better written version, if my mood permits.)
Keep your hands busy, said my father every time I used to lean against the tree to catch my breath. Keep your hands busy you idiot, keep your hands busy, don’t let your head decide for you. Keep your hands busy, he would coax me to get working. And so I would again start chiselling the chunk of rock, along the lines my father, a master sculptor, had already outlined. But I would still dream with eyes wide open. When the hammer used to fall so gently yet firm on the chisel, I used to dream of the cities and the grand mansions. I was not good in sculpting, yet I wanted to be the greatest sculptor in this world. I wanted to be honoured by my king. I wanted to be the subject for which kings wage wars against each other. I was a dreamer, I …