Rain hasn’t been too kind lately. Dark clouds fill up the evening sky only to disappear within minutes. A sudden cold breeze crosses with some hope of respite. No rain drops even an hour later. The chill in the air stays on till late.
Showers are thing of the past.
There were times when standing on a bus stop on busy Ring road amidst heavy crowd, rain would splash without a signal of caution. Sheer joy it used to be. Two-wheelers would struggle for space along with those waiting for the DTC and the Blue Lines.
And there were times when finding a Rickshaw used to be a pain in this rain at the Delhi University. Sorry, North Campus! With no ricky-man visible, students in hordes used to walk up to the Mall Road.
India Gate and Dilli Haat became a meeting point for rain lovers. Perhaps it still does, for lovers alone though!
Noise isn’t meant for a writer. He, who writes, wanders for silence. The beautiful sound of rain is blessing for a writer, or someone who wishes the ink to flow.
At the café on that September evening, rain took us by surprise. With no transport, we started on foot. The water flooded the street. Our trousers at knee length and an umbrella in hand the journey began.
Our hands tied together, and clothes soaked with rain water. We crossed traffic snarls speeding against rain.
Halfway through, our eyes met. There was silence. Smiling faces stared each other.
Minutes passed. I was left alone with a beautiful fragrance. Rain vanished; water clogged on the street remained.
People tell me it has rained much more than ever before this season.
Perhaps just the time never returned. I tried to reach you. Memories remained.