Another day has ended. I am stretched out on the recliner, staring at nothing in particular. My kids are nowhere in sight, while my husband is still busy at work.
A cool breeze enters from the balcony door and teases tendrils of hair onto my face. The sky is dark; dark grey clouds are hanging low. There is a deep rumbling of thunder from far away clouds that are at loggerheads with each other. Sparks fly and bright streaks of lightning illumine the firmament, now here, now gone. The rumbling goes on for sometime.
Finally, the clouds seem to have had enough. They let their emotions rain down on earth. Now, along with the breeze is the gentle sound of rain. Thin silver trains that can only be seen against the street lights. The falling rain is soothing. The clouds are spent. They are done with their day. The earth guzzles this welcome treat. The orchids on my balcony are nodding in merriment. The odd plop of a loud drop can be heard on and off.
The rain’s music continues. There is the occasional rumble from high above, but down below all is well. The night has arrived with the rain, rejuvenating the earth, in a timeless dance that will repeat even we are all gone.
The magic of rain can never be explained, it can only be experienced. Whether it is the lashing Indian monsoon or a gentle evening drizzle or a continuous downpour at night, rain is love, rain is nostalgia, rain is hot coffee with samosas, rain is poignancy, rain is coziness, rain is music, rain is magic.