Its 1st June. And it must be raining back in Kerala. The skies would be grey, dank and sullen. The Sun would be buried under layers of dark tufts, a soft beam, maybe, escaping once in a while. The roads would be washed in rain water, with slushy puddles and broken branches of trees that surrendered to the bratty winds. Coconut palms would be swishing and swaying, and trees- fresh, green and glossy after a long shower; all reminiscences of summer washed away by the rain drops. The air would be damp, cold and smelling incredibly fresh; but the fragrance of wet earth would have started fading...
Today is the first day of monsoons there. When rains drench everything, day and night, cascading down in millions of drops, incessantly. Today is also the first day of School. And as always, it will be pouring, soaking the students and their new uniforms and shoes, before new umbrellas can spring up in defense.
Ah! Now that takes me on a trip down the memory lane! Lanes washed by monsoon rains. How mom would wake me up on the first of day of school. How the alarm would screech, waking me at the break of dawn, when I’d be blissfully asleep in the weather that’s meant for only sleeping - gloomy, breezy, cold and pouring. How I would lazily open my eyes to the pitter patter of the rain against the window glass, while it would be still dark outside. How I would sulk (as the only silver lining to the cloud would be that I’ll be meeting my friends after months) and pull myself, half heartedly, to get ready for School, for the next one year.
My spanking new uniform, socks, shoes (shining brilliantly after last night’s vigorous polishing) and bag would be ready- and I’d look at them unenthusiastically, taking in the fact that school days are indeed back.
(Paradox: A decade and a half later, I so wish I could go back to school. Just for a day, as a student, to relive those moments)
School was just a stone throw away, so I always walked down, along with a group of friends staying in the same street. I’d wait to use my new umbrella (oh! those little moments of finding unbridled happiness in small things…maybe that’s what childhood innocence is all about!) as soon I got out of the house. First step into the rain and my shiny-as-mirror shoes and pristine white socks would no longer look new, and ironed to perfection uniform will start soaking slowly as heavy drops scattering like crystals on the umbrella, would keep spraying in (and an occasional wind would complete the job).
An usual 5 minute walk would turn out to be a 15 minute one, with each member joining to the group from and updating on things since last evening; and discussing at length, animatedly, on how the year is going to be (at times too much animation would lead to poking of one’s umbrella in the other’s eyes, resulting in a loud yowl and pushing and rude “keep away!”s).
We would reach school by then, drenched from head to toe, scurrying to enter through the large iron gates painted in red, white and black, open after 2 months of being chained and locked. Rows of bicycles would be parked in the cycle bay; and the road would by then be jammed with cars honking impatiently. Peels of laugher, excited yells and loud greetings drown the air in excitement, albeit the moody, broody weather.
Predictably, the breaking news would be: “Assembly has been dismissed due to rains. The Principal shall address you later” (usually welcomed with wolf whistles by the seniors). We’d push ourselves, bag and all, through the stairs, grinning at the new kids in the Kindergarten floor howling their lungs away and trying to run away from the classrooms. Entering into a classroom full of friendly faces (and a few scared lambs- undoubtedly the 'new' ones) buzzing like a beehive is a special feeling. The cold and dull effect of the weather outside gives way to warmth and sparkling energy, as you become a bee, one among them the very next second and get dragged into the pulsating hyper-ness.
Then comes the teachers, one by one- some familiar faces, some new ones, some nice, some stern and end up giving a long discourse about how the academic year is going to be. New text books surface from the dripping bags, and efforts to sponge away the water that would have started seeping into the fresh, crisp pages.
But I, being the quintessential day dreamer, would be quick to occupy a seat next to the large glass window, where I can sit and watch the rains; and even stretch out my hand to catch a few drops. Even stick my face on the grill and feel the breeze. And watch the people walking through the lane below, trying not to step into a pothole that had the shape of a dog, expertly balancing with their umbrellas so that they don’t fall. And the lady who stays in the house below trying to figure out where spread out the laundry on the terrace. And sparrows perched on the mango tree, preening their wet feathers. And admire the beauty of rain drops clinging on to the window grills in a line, like streamers. And taking each drop of water with the tip of my finger. And if nothing, just dream away.
The classes continued, one after one. So did the rains.
I just realized I forgot the last time I watched rains, doing nothing.
Those rain soaked memories are slowly accumlating the dust of time.
Its time those cool drops refreshed my mind. And memories.
Today is the first day of monsoons there. When rains drench everything, day and night, cascading down in millions of drops, incessantly. Today is also the first day of School. And as always, it will be pouring, soaking the students and their new uniforms and shoes, before new umbrellas can spring up in defense.
Ah! Now that takes me on a trip down the memory lane! Lanes washed by monsoon rains. How mom would wake me up on the first of day of school. How the alarm would screech, waking me at the break of dawn, when I’d be blissfully asleep in the weather that’s meant for only sleeping - gloomy, breezy, cold and pouring. How I would lazily open my eyes to the pitter patter of the rain against the window glass, while it would be still dark outside. How I would sulk (as the only silver lining to the cloud would be that I’ll be meeting my friends after months) and pull myself, half heartedly, to get ready for School, for the next one year.
My spanking new uniform, socks, shoes (shining brilliantly after last night’s vigorous polishing) and bag would be ready- and I’d look at them unenthusiastically, taking in the fact that school days are indeed back.
(Paradox: A decade and a half later, I so wish I could go back to school. Just for a day, as a student, to relive those moments)
School was just a stone throw away, so I always walked down, along with a group of friends staying in the same street. I’d wait to use my new umbrella (oh! those little moments of finding unbridled happiness in small things…maybe that’s what childhood innocence is all about!) as soon I got out of the house. First step into the rain and my shiny-as-mirror shoes and pristine white socks would no longer look new, and ironed to perfection uniform will start soaking slowly as heavy drops scattering like crystals on the umbrella, would keep spraying in (and an occasional wind would complete the job).
An usual 5 minute walk would turn out to be a 15 minute one, with each member joining to the group from and updating on things since last evening; and discussing at length, animatedly, on how the year is going to be (at times too much animation would lead to poking of one’s umbrella in the other’s eyes, resulting in a loud yowl and pushing and rude “keep away!”s).
We would reach school by then, drenched from head to toe, scurrying to enter through the large iron gates painted in red, white and black, open after 2 months of being chained and locked. Rows of bicycles would be parked in the cycle bay; and the road would by then be jammed with cars honking impatiently. Peels of laugher, excited yells and loud greetings drown the air in excitement, albeit the moody, broody weather.
Predictably, the breaking news would be: “Assembly has been dismissed due to rains. The Principal shall address you later” (usually welcomed with wolf whistles by the seniors). We’d push ourselves, bag and all, through the stairs, grinning at the new kids in the Kindergarten floor howling their lungs away and trying to run away from the classrooms. Entering into a classroom full of friendly faces (and a few scared lambs- undoubtedly the 'new' ones) buzzing like a beehive is a special feeling. The cold and dull effect of the weather outside gives way to warmth and sparkling energy, as you become a bee, one among them the very next second and get dragged into the pulsating hyper-ness.
Then comes the teachers, one by one- some familiar faces, some new ones, some nice, some stern and end up giving a long discourse about how the academic year is going to be. New text books surface from the dripping bags, and efforts to sponge away the water that would have started seeping into the fresh, crisp pages.
But I, being the quintessential day dreamer, would be quick to occupy a seat next to the large glass window, where I can sit and watch the rains; and even stretch out my hand to catch a few drops. Even stick my face on the grill and feel the breeze. And watch the people walking through the lane below, trying not to step into a pothole that had the shape of a dog, expertly balancing with their umbrellas so that they don’t fall. And the lady who stays in the house below trying to figure out where spread out the laundry on the terrace. And sparrows perched on the mango tree, preening their wet feathers. And admire the beauty of rain drops clinging on to the window grills in a line, like streamers. And taking each drop of water with the tip of my finger. And if nothing, just dream away.
The classes continued, one after one. So did the rains.
I just realized I forgot the last time I watched rains, doing nothing.
Those rain soaked memories are slowly accumlating the dust of time.
Its time those cool drops refreshed my mind. And memories.
