Here Comes the Rain

I can still recall the day my mother finally allowed sickly 9-year old me to bathe under the rain and watch (then later join) my paper boats float down the gushing brown waters of the neighbor’s canal. Dirty. Flu-inducing. Priceless. Of course, the memory of being actually allowed may not have been entirely accurate.

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It’s that time of the year once again – when the floodgates of heaven open up to charmingly join the school gates this side of the world. The rainy season is here and unlike the excitement we always have for summer, we generally meet it with ambivalent feelings, welcoming the relief from heat but dreading flooded streets.

If I were the rain, I would have sulked by now. Unfair, you people, I would say. You know you miss me when I’m not around.

We get overwhelmed with the adventure and fun that summer brings that we tend to underrate the wonderful things that rain has to offer. Sure, it cancels appointments and disrupts classes. But who doesn’t appreciate burrowing into the comfort of warm blankets and hitting the snooze button because you suddenly have two extra hours to sleep some more? And remember the feeling when classes would suddenly get cancelled right when a difficult exam you didn’t study for, was supposed to happen? Ahhh, what joy the words “way klase” could bring! Rightly or not, we thanked the gods for that torrential downpour.

The magic words in a poet or perhaps the melody in a musician’s heart. It’s the watershed from the skies bringing hope for a good harvest to a farmer.

It covers up the tears of the broken-hearted when no onion is at hand.

Pouring rain and the cold it brings is the perfect reason for snuggling and cuddling. It’s one less guilt trip for curling up in bed all day. Have cats and dogs of it on a weekday and what you have is a heaven-sent, legitimate excuse for being late to work that a summer day never can be. And for the fashionista, it’s the most opportune time to properly strut those trendy boots and thick stylish jacket in this tropical country. Out with the bikinis and in with the jackets.

Rain is coming. Let’s meet it with a sunny spirit and positive vibe while sipping from a steaming mug of coffee. Let’s embrace the small and big blessing it brings us and countless other creatures. And, as any Game of Thrones fan will profoundly advise, just be glad it’s not winter – you don’t want to know.

Back to that gushing, murky waters of neighborhood canals. Nothing beats the memories of childhood friends frolicking under the rain with you, stomping on puddles with raindrops tattooing a beat on your naked backs.

“Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.”      – Langston Hughes

On Children

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

– Kahlil Gibran

Because I Could Not Stop For Death

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

   – Emily Dickinson