The Rain and Him.


She looked out of her window. It was pouring cats and dogs. The pitter patter of the rain, somehow hypnotized her into inactivity. She hated doing nothing. For when she had time for herself, she remembered. And yet there is something about the Mumbai rains that coerced her to remember. Made her remember. She wanted to purge it out of her system. As if she could! But she wanted to purge him out. May be the rains would help her… help her erase him out of her heart.

She opened the window and caught the rain into her palms. Feeling the wetness caress her fingers as he once did. She stood there for sometime relishing in the sensual poetry of the imagined touch.

Then she decided to step out into the rain drenched roads. She traipsed through the by lanes that they once walked on. As though she was trying to go back and erase every little memory, wiping them away. The laughter that echoed late in the night that she spent sleepless.

The rain wasn’t the gentle kind. It pricked . Pierced through her defenses, until what remained was a quivering mass of high strung emotions. She reveled in it. As if, every prick, relieved her of her pain.

Unwittingly then, her legs reached the shores of Arabian Sea. As waves crashed on the shore with an unaccustomed fury, she tried to hold her emotions in check. However, they had some other plans. Soon the tears mingled with the rain. And the roar of the waves drowned the whispers of sweet nothings that the winds carried.

It was yet not enough. He still lingered. Like few forgotten verses, lost meanings, he lurked, silently. Waiting to be discovered or may be , be stumbled upon unknowingly. Β It still wasn’t enough.

She stood in the sand. Letting the waves touch her legs gently And when the sand slipped underneath her feet, she could feel the world flit pass by her.

She watched the waves rise up to the crescendos and then crash violently for a long time. Her dreams had soared high likewise and now, she let them crash, one after another. She planned to outlast the rain. And yet, it was sundown and the rain wouldn’t relent. It was time to return. To accept defeat. She returned home.

She had not succeeded. She returned, more awakened, more drenched in him than ever before. And yet, it rained still. Β She returned yes. To the window again. She didn’t change her wet clothes. She wanted to feel him yet. How could she not? She stood by the windows as the sky darkened into inky night. She had not lighted the lamp today. She was waiting, seemingly for her husband, but that was not true. She waited for HIM.

The bell rung. She opened the door. It was her husband. He asked her in his own polite way, why she was wet. She said, the roof leaked. She reached and took his briefcase while he removed his shoes. While he changed clothes, she made tea for him. They exchanged platitudes while the radio spouted songs of Kishore. … ‘Jalta hai jiya mora bhigi bhigi raaton mein..

Soon it was night. Time to sleep. Her husband hugged her and whispered he loved her. In the dark of night held her close while she stared at the ceiling.. listening to pitter patter of the rain.. or was it whisper of HIS foot steps? Had he come finally ?

In few minutes, her husband was done and he turned his back on her. While she still stared at the ceiling trying to discern the sound of his fading footsteps in the sound of the incessant rains……..

P.S: This story is inspired (if you like) by the song Paus Datlela from the Album Gaarva by Milind Ingle ( of chuimui si tum lagti ho fame). In this song, the hero, wants his love interest to remember him in the rains. Esp in the rains. He wanted her to remember every one of their memories and then be forced to be sweet to her husband. He wanted her to remain sleepless while husband slept with his back towards her. In effect he wanted her to feel utterly lonely, utterly empty like he felt at that moment. While he assumed that she wouldn’t be feeling that at all… I wanted to show.. how hard it would be for a girl to remember.. and yet to be forced to forget…I am not sure if it works.. but I sure hope so!

If you want to listen to the song.. the link is here.. the song is in marathi.. but extremely melodious! Please have a look!And if you need a translation let me know πŸ˜€


10 thoughts on “The Rain and Him.

  1. now that is a major spurt of posts! 6 posts in 1 day..

    and yes, as usual, this one too is very well written..
    have to agree with the Indian Homemaker’s comment – for a minute even I thought she was going in..

    Me: What better way to celebrate 500th post than writing more? πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€ @ going in.. ah too predictable eh? but then this one is too ?

  2. I cannot speak for a girl purely because I am not one but rememberance is rememberance M! But yes I guess it is that much MORE difficult for a girl in precisely the context that you have brought out in your authorial after-word: “I wanted to show.. how hard it would be for a girl to remember.. and yet to be forced to forget…”

    Again, finely woven and I liked the narrative overall. What more I went back to my only experience of the Mumbai rains earlier this year and on some of those nights my eyes still felt warm even as rain masked my face… if you know what I mean!!!

    Me- I absolutely do!!

  3. and I liked the pitter-patter (of the rain) and the footsteps (of his) metaphor. Exquisite! πŸ™‚

    Me- Its the song! Not my metaphor.. but i love this!

  4. I read this post long back but forgot to comment cos I got all lost then.

    Fantastic:) You ve a way with writing certain genres:)

    ME: πŸ™‚

  5. Wow!

    Thanks for linking this to me. Just like IHM, I also felt she might kill herself, but I think you’re so cruel, you didn’t allow her ordeal to end there? πŸ˜‰

    But, I can’t tell you how well you have written this. Do you think such things really happen, as in, do people always keep on remembering their old love despite things changing so much in ‘real’ life? I know, I too have written ‘Residua’ (which you’d read and commented upon), where one of the female characters – Rukmini keeps on embracing this kind of pain, despite being married and having two kids. Or do writers like you (and me) keep on romanticizing such pain even if it is not to be found in real life, so that we can keep on blogging? πŸ˜‰

    I wish I could write as evocatively as you do.

    And lastly, do you think her discussing all this with her husband at the time of/before marriage would’ve helped? He does not seem like a typical ‘prick’. Why did she not feel comfortable with him, after all? Why could she not confide in him? These are some of the genuine questions I have.

    Though, this post is about entirely different state of mind, it deals with rains, and I must say it’s been one of the magical descriptions of rain I have ever come across. And you might recognize, I had referred you to that blog for entirely unrelated reasons! πŸ˜‰

    Thanks, again for linking this post to me, I really liked it. πŸ™‚

Humor me please? *winks*

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