As I type this email out to you, it’s pouring heavily outside and little raindrops are being blown in by the wind. It’s one of those days, that has me feeling very nostalgic and finds me in a reminiscent mood. What am I reminiscing, you ask?
I’m remembering the day you were born. June had just begun, the grey clouds were overcast and it was gloomy. The atmosphere was charged with excitement and everyone was waiting for it to pour. Prayers were murmured to the rain God who did not let us down. As the first few drops graced the parched land you entered into this world and touched my life,that is why I named you Megha.
Since childhood you shared a special bond with the rains. I remember, how you would spend hours making paper boats from colorful craft paper and then set them afloat in the narrow stream that ran behind our house. How you would follow them for as long and as far as you could and then return back home, bursting with questions about them and what would happen to them eventually.
It was an annual ritual for you, to stand in the garden with your arms outstretched and spin in circles till you dropped with dizziness, as the first showers fell from heaven. Be it thunder or lightning, you never missed it.
I remember one year in particular, you had a biology exam the next day and in spite of all my warnings and me physically locking you up in your bedroom, you managed to escape through the window and complete your ritual. Imagine my surprise when I looked out of the window and there you were spinning crazily without a care in the world! I was just glad that you did not get pneumonia and that day I learnt my lesson. Never come between you and your ritual. I wonder if you do it even today. Do you?
I recall asking you that day, why you loved the rain so much and your reply is something that is engraved into my memory till today. “Mom,” you said in that sweet melodious voice of yours, “The rains make everything new and clean and when I stand under the sky, it’s like I’m getting renewed. The droplets breathe new life into me as they settle on my body. After the scorching summer heat it feels like paradise. No perfume can match the smell of wet earth and no emotion can describe how it makes me feel.” That day I realized that my little one was no longer ‘little.’
Rains for you always meant a good book (Harry Potter in your definition), hot masala chai and a seat by the window. It was an arduous task for me to get you ready and send you to school luring you with all sorts of promises, conceding at times and at times giving in.
The other day while I was cleaning your drawer, I found your Blue Book, where you would pen your thoughts. As I was reading through it, I realized that the bond that you share with the monsoon has only deepened with time. Your poems and short stories about the monsoon warmed my heart and brought a smile to my face.
The rains always remind me of you and your cute, silly, funny antics. Every monsoon was an adventure for me with you leading the way. They say it’s the parents’ duty to teach their children, but in our case you have taught me more, much more.
The rain has lessened now, I must go and do some grocery shopping. Sending all my love and prayers your way.