It is 6:30 AM here in the morning, it is raining heavily and there is no sign of the sun yet. There is something about the rain that always conjures old memories. With the sound of the rain on the ground, the dark clouds looming over the sky, the booming thunder, lightning in the background and darkness all around it appears as though the stage is set to slow down, reflect and evoke old memories.
On the other hand, scorching summer days or piercing winter days are days for perpetual complaints, wishing it were 10 degree hotter or cooler or wishing I were some place else.
For me when it rains, I like to curl up on the couch with a warm cup of tea reminiscing of fond and not so fond memories, ruminate over how my life has shaped from once being a little girl to the mother of a little boy.
I also like recalling the mythological stories my Grandpa used to tell me “Why God created rains?” which somewhere along usually had the twist of Lord Shiva opening his third eye or Narada playing the mediator or Lord Indra being a coward in spite of being the King of Gods.
Or recalling my Dad telling me for the 50th time to be careful while crossing the street bag-pack on my back, umbrella in one hand and my younger brother’s hand in another.
Recalling how I used to run with my mother upstairs to pull out all the clothes from the clothesline that were left to air dry only to find 5 minutes later that the rain Gods played prank on us and decided to stop after all.
There is something about the rain ….