Poetry
First Drop of Rain
RAVNEET KAUR SANGHA
Punjab.
We had our first sandstorm.
You know, the kind they love to talk about. The one where everything flies, windows rattle, doors creak, slam and shut and every little scrap of garbage that has been dotting the landscape flies around, round and round. Along with millions, gazillions, of particles of sand, swirling like dervishes.
Oh, it’s a housewife’s nightmare. One is left with the cleaning up after, the dusting and wiping and getting rid of all those branches, leaves, twigs …
But, for one moment, stop. And just go with the flow
I did.
It is beautiful.
The drop in temperature, the clear wind, after the storm settles. And the fresh fresh air. It’s like being re-programmed after days of intense heat and sweating like a you-know-what. On second thoughts, do women sweat or perspire?
Well, it was exhilarating.
A ride out with the kiddos in an open jeep and just soaking in the real world. I am not being a tourist nor am I selling anything here nor am I a preacher.
Just for a moment, I look up from the virtual life we have built around ourselves. The endless texting, whatsapp (the next frontier), FB or just being glued to television.
To discover the joys of just being out, smelling the first drop of rain on the parched earth, is priceless. Nobody till now has been able to bottle this, nor can any flower’s essence replicate this feeling of coming alive. Of feeling a connect with Mother Earth and her bounty, of sensing the tug of the umbilical chord.
It isn’t until I get out that I realize, again, that it’s actually more fun in the real world than seeing it on the Discovery Channel.
Sometimes all I need is that one perfect moment to let all the clouds of darkness fly away, everything becomes clear.
For me, it was the first drop of rain today that blew away the clouds of lethargy and gloom.
Life will inevitable return to the same old, same old, and we will again get involved in the fight to choose which leader will lead us to that ever-promised, over-promised, more stable economic future.
It never stops. No one till now has been able to seize time and make it stop. But I have … carpe diem.
I seek and grab every cliché … I gather the rosebuds while I can, and yes, I have taken out time to smell the roses.
Hurry, you too, before the scientists ruin it all. They say they’re developing a thorn-less rose.
Imagine ...
June 28, 2013
Conversation about this article
1: Harinder (Uttar Pradesh, India), June 28, 2013, 1:42 PM.
Tears of joy are like the summer rain drops pierced by sunbeams.