January Rain

The little drops came slow, falling like a silk sheet soaking the earth in a coldness and colouring it in a shade of grey much like the sky above. A little drizzle through the afternoon soon metamorphosed into a continuous rain by dusk, cold for a cold January and no longer odd. Mushroomed the umbrellas, black and pink, and daintily fell the bright orange flowers of the flame-of-the-forest tree, one at a time on the drenched road! A waft of piping hot ginger tea teased the senses and the sound of wet slippers on the pavement reminded one of monsoons in winter months.

Through sleepy eyes, January would usually witness the shawl of fog wrapping the city in her alternating opaqueness and translucence in the mornings. And in the afternoons, stretched like a sleepy cat basking under the sun, January would snooze in the warmth of a bright yellow sun shining upon the blue sky. Over the years, along with a surprised January, I have witnessed the sporadic rain visiting us unannounced. Without a fanfare, he touches everything in his Midas touch of rain and disappear into the oblivion much like his quiet appearance. Waking up from the hibernating sleep of winter, on day unobvious, one can see a pale shade of grey stretching over the sky. No sooner than the windows are opened, a cold draft sweeps through the room.

Such has been the city since the last two days, soaked through and through, greener than green, colder than cold. Cold hands cup the warm surface of cup of hot tea, and beseeching eyes wander through the window, through the vast stretch of land, broken hither and tither by construction sites, through the grey road where cars never stop running, into the grey blue of the horizon. Thoughts, nostalgic and warm, rush through the mind, of the rains in the mountain home, of never having an umbrella and unsuccessfully taking shelter under the dripping pine trees, of the angry (now silly) walk through college campus soaking in the rain, of running and wading through puddles laughing like kids, of the traffic snarls during work days.

A happy desire to walk in the evening takes over me; equipped with a hooded jacket, earphones, I walk in literal circles around the building, and a little drizzle stops to begin again later in circles. Happy, sad thoughts of the companion perhaps smiling over a cup of tea, perhaps watching the rain, and perhaps thinking about me take over my senses. I smile at the warm thought of us walking through drenched roads, shaded by trees shaking merrily in the rain, through valleys and mountains, sighing happily at a beautiful view that we chance upon, at sitting upon a soaked stone and taking a picture of our shoes, our thing, against the backdrop of a wonderful sight that overwhelms us with joy.

I smile at the thought of perhaps another day, another year, when we share a conversation together, over two cups of ginger tea, on another rainy day in January.

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