It has been raining in Delhi. The city seems to have stepped out of the zebra crossing of alternating sun and rain, to a patch of steady drizzle. All around, it is green, and there are droplets preening from every leaf, opening up like peacocks, little terrariums reflected in their wondrous plumes, before closing again. It is a nasha, and I can never tire of feeling again, the solace of the soul’s red earth being moistened by the torrent. I have been itching to share rain poems, and I wanted to share a rain song today. I have been delaying it because it will take some time, some translation, and details about the song etc. It will be delayed again. But I promise to share it soon!
Instead, I’m going to cheat, and share a poem of my own, because it is easier to write about something from the past that brings back a very distinct image from a place, and senitment I know. I wrote this poem (The Message) many years ago in the jaal (tulu for courtyard/verandah) of my ancestral house in Mangalore. It had been hot, and the usual rumours and buzz around the first rain had been going on for a few days, but it had not rained yet.
On that overcast day, when I was sitting outside enjoying the green coconut thota (plantation), the breeze came without warning. The entire place came alive, and the green exploded with a thousand birds, frogs and crickets. Even before it rained, it felt like everybody knew…
..and true to the prophecies,
in a matter of seconds,
the skies relented.
Your poem has the fragrance of coming rains - big rains - wonderful