What is Special about Rain?

I am asked, “What is so special about rain?”

I walk through the office corridor with a camera in hand. My immediate aim is hazy but it is well meaning. I intend to keep a repository of all things that this city offers or lacks in and rain falls in the latter category. Which is why I am resplendent, almost humming in my head that it is raining.

It started out as cacophonous winds blowing in all directions, rising over the roofs, and then falling down as if there was no way it could avoid this fall. Then, the clouds gather around, covering the large expanse of the sky, minding not much of the convenience of the time or the hour of the day. And, then a droplet falls followed by another. Before one could muster intelligence to their aid, it starts raining heavily. There is thunder too, and prayers go up to the heavens followed by their religious indoctrinations.

So, when I am asked, “What is so special about rain?”, I chuckle without letting the questioner know. I think, what a foolish question to have been framed that too, when the heat wave hasn’t decided to subside nor has the earth cooled down. I also think, what pain they carry to disregard such wonderment but I don’t delve upon that last thought for a long time. I already know the answer to that question.

Even after showing myself off, as a silly nomad, a vain wanderer caught in the narcotic city, I carry the camera to capture, one picture, if only. But, the downpour is heavy, like a real downpour and I am not prepared for it – not in clothes, nor in mechanics. While the questioner eats her lunch, I stand outside, listening to the thunder and watching the rain as it falls continuously as an ominous prediction of the forthcoming. I wonder what they predict for me.

But, the question keeps coming back to me. “What is special about rain?” I think now, it was more the tone that the questioner used to question that shook me. Perhaps it was the dripping logic and the profuse sarcasm with which the judgment was laid on my imbecile nature that created a revolt inside me. I look at the rain and say what I couldn’t say to the questioner, “Everything is special about rain. Everything.”

In a way, I also wanted to say, “Everything is special about me too.”


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