is a little like
the patter of rain.
― Lang Leav, Love & Misadventure
What is it about these droplets of a compound that percolate the warp and weft enclosing the you-ness of you; that linger in moist vapours on your wet and wrinkly skin; that journey inwards in cold chills warming you with petrichor as they go along? But the rain is also merciless chilling reality for the homeless and the anchorless who throng the city’s sidewalks in clusters of lost constellations.
And there is another rain- the kind that is unseen and intangible but very much real. It rains on us when life arrives in the shapes and sizes that we never imagined it would take- in the upward curve of a stranger’s lips, in the high-fives of a job well accomplished, in the tenacious hold of a little hand claiming your index finger extended in friendship, in the silent scream of catharsis when the unspoken burdens of the heart release you from their grip, in the sweetened surprise-filled moments of connecting with people you have met for the first time- life arrives as rain…
Life arrives as rain- in the sogginess of cynicism that has blunted the keenness of the spirit, in the melancholy of overcast skies when love seems a distant dream, in the listless entrapment that ensues on rained-in days, in the incessant banter of howling winds that cry out secrets best forgotten, in the forlorn despair of seeing ones possessions rotting from the core as the water sinks in deeper and deeper…
That water sustains life and even destroys it, is amplified in this universe. Its presence and absence has determined and defined the whos and wheres of existence and non-existence. But when it comes as rain, and you discover the droplets in your outstretched palm or in the tangled soppiness of your hair, or in the stickiness of his breath on your face and shoulder, or even the annoyance of drenched Sunday bests- you know you feel life.