Part I Have you seen the Rain?

"Damn"
Rahul sweared looking up at the barren sky, not a speck of cloud was to be seen. Nearly 3 months have passed since it rained last. He lookied at me, and asked about the weather prediction. I smiled at him. Then he began to to tell me, "There was this silly girl, whom I love dearest, who is crazy like a colt, and believes that stars are god's daisy chain ( ahem ahem, plagiarism I hear). Oh, I almost forgot to mention, she also have this wierd idea that raim makes her more happy than anything. On reflection, I remember her alluding me as the rain of her heart, her life. But she also reminded me constantly that I am as unreliable as the rain; one time it is just a drizzle, another a sh9ower, sometimes accompanied with squall, sometimes thunder and lightening. You can get the general idea about what she thinks about the timing and the company I keep.

"But one day, she finally got frustrated with me. In the heat of an argument, she condemned me as a bringer of misery to her life and a destroyer of love ... And she went away, to a place wehre it does not rain, saying that the rain would remind her of me."

~tbc ( to be continued)

Part III The Morning After

Meenakshi didn't open her eyes. She recollects her thoughts about the previous night. How blissful the night was. It rained all night, and the air did smelled of wet fulfilled earth.

In the veil of the darkness behind her eyelids, she imagines her fear - was it all a dream? were those touches she felts not long ago not for real? Were those comforting words the tricks of the winds?

Before opening her eyes, to confirm her too human curiousity, she holds her breath and feels around the bed. A warm answer of flesh on flesh answers her inquiring fingers. Only then she dared to pen her untrustful eyes.

Rahul sleeps beside her blissfully, his eyes restful and closed. Meenakshi watches him thus for unaccounted moments, trying to drink in the handsome face of youth. An unchecked smile plays on her face, telling the story of happiness, love and hopes coming alive.

Part I: The rain never came
Part II: Of squalls and thunderstorms 

part II Of Squalls and thunderstorms

It was a dull Tuesday morning, the sky was a little darker then usual. A cool breezes wafts across the zagged plain of Safdurjung, touching one here, one there, with its cold fingers. Sometimes it stirs up some dried leaves and delivers them to unknown recipients. Meenakshi watches as thunders rolls on the sky, and brilliant lights threatens to tear the sky apart.

But she was most concerned with the rain. When would her rain come? At that moment a sweet sound of a song bird fill the june morning. Looking around, Meenakshi saw a boat-shaped black bird with white patches and a long black tail, with a crest on its head perched on the porch. Its feathers ruffled in the wind. Then the bird flew away.

In the evening, the sky had turned black, with streaks of blue lightening accompanied by heart stopping thunder. And it rained. Meenakshi ran out of her house to greet the rain with outstretched arms. She tilts her face upwards and the rain feels almost like a long forgotten kiss. Busy as she was embracing the rain, she didn’t notice Rahul coming but when she comes to her senses she finds herself in the arms of her long separated beloved. She looks deeply in his eyes. “It is raining”.

“I know.,” he replied, “That’s why I came.”

Part I: The rain never came

Part III: The morning after

Part I The rain never came

It didn’t rain tonight. Not that she expects any. The night sky glitters in mockery with clear twinkling stars which gave no comfort, only a little distraction while she imagine her fears. She sits on the chair on the porch waiting for something, maybe a little waft of zephyr breeze or someone else. The night slips by with only the moon to accompany her. The moon reminded her of the story where the moon waits for her love, the sun, but is forever destined not to, a dream which has no path to come to the realm of the real.

A breeze passes by but she didn’t notice, only the branches sway in acknowledgement. And Meenakshi, with a heavy heart sits silently, and waits for the non-existent cloud to give her some rain, with hope that the rain could quench the thirst inside her.

Part II: Of squalls and thunderstorms

Part III: The morning after

A turning in life

There are times when life screams with the sheer heaviness of melancholy, and the feeling of loneliness arose to such height that you feel utterly forlorn and lost. And at such times only I must be strong. But valour first needs a strength and then a weapon. But when all hope is thus lost, where shall I find strength? And where shall I look for a weapon? The rusty axe have served me well, and now must retire; the courage, now too frail, cannot rise to hope.

Of 3 scores and 10, 50 more to go, and with weary feet must I pursue? Must I stay? And when all things seems utterly lost, and when the end beyond all means is looming, then and now I must despair. The old that is strong does not wither, they say; aye, it is true, but they do turn into stone, forever carven and set on solid earth.

Life, its fervid autumn heat wasted, must now pass on to the desolate winter, from where shall pass on the next great journey...


A flash of light
A myriad of colour
Of loud bangs and sudden disappearances

Where went the youth? Ask of the wind and the sun and the moon, but tell no tales of the youth. Where now is he?

What it is to die and live again? A blossoming of heart, a glimmer of hope, so bright was it, as if, Earendil, the evening star, most beloved of the elves have come down to rest upon there.

With eager feet I must now follow, and take some longer road, where then, I cannot say.