Rain

I am witness to a time,

when the rain was

a relief

from the intolerable heat of the sun

a wish come true

that closed schools

an inspiration

for innumerable novelists and poets. 

When it rained then,

it poured.

And it would coax nature 

into releasing a strange scent.

A smell so unique to it

one reminisced of it

as the smell of the monsoon.

But the monsoon

did not just pleasure the nose.

A comfortingly cool breeze

would blow against the body

and escape through its gaps.

Tingling, soothing, cooling

body, mind and spirit.

One would spent ages

staring out of the windows

listening to the clatter 

of the raindrops against the zinc panels.

the muffled gasps

as water touched solid

the wail

of the gale.

It was an orchestra

whose volume

reflected the strength

of its ensemble.

Sure enough

small childish ponds 

would appear on my lawn.

On which I would float

little paper boats.

Not that they floated for long.

It was just a childish thrill

unique to the monsoon

that got lost with the times.

Ma would shout to me

to return to the shelter of our house.

Fearing another caning

I would rush back

and with a shelter over my head

I would stretch my hand out

for one last feel of that coolness.

Such was the longing for what 

a decade later 

became 

an unavoidable inconvenience.