Nearly two months ago I witnessed an unusually good rainfall in the city of Mumbai. I was residing in the campus of IIT in Powai. Scenes of tall and thick trees everywhere block my mind. The bright color of clean, wet roads meeting with grey, pregnant and ever-moving clouds in the background reproduced the atmosphere I felt in rainy hill station Ooty six months ago. I remember the crows cawing and flying all the time and rain ready to fall with the closing of an umbrella. After staying in Mumbai for two months, I took a train to Vadodara where my home is. Five days later, I am in Surat, where I study and live in hostel, 80 miles away from home.Now, I can see my college fellows arriving in their balconies to take the pleasure of the noisy and ugly rain and I see the smiles starting to form on their face.Only I know that the clouds above their heads are being pulled by strong wind. In spite of all this, I have always believed in this stupid theory of mine that the quantity of rain which will fall directly depends on the intensity of fragrance of wet soil in the first rainfall. My father had told me a week ago that I’d brought rainfall with me from Mumbai to Vadodara because monsoon had supposedly just started there with my arrival but I can clearly feel the difference in air whilst sitting in the train and I can tell that rainfall is going to be scarce in these regions no matter what weather predictions be.
I was right. The rain disappears without even moistening the whole soil. Such an unsightly and quick downfall is always like a mirage in the desert. Both disappear in no time.
I cannot make out any positive meaning out of such a contrast I have spotted in rainfall in matter of a week in these two regions. Rainfall inspires me because it makes me aloof from the world. Some things clear your vision in foggy surroundings, where you are at a loss of any direction while some blur it in clear weather when you are going in a proper direction. Downpour in Mumbai was like a rebirth, similar to cleansing your soul and body. This atmosphere in Surat is confusing .I feel like standing amidst a farm of sunflower plants where the flowers are staring at each other even with a blaring sun on the top; very close to a hypothetical situation where my mother speaks to me in an unknown language.
Now the sun comes out as clouds pass by swiftly and throws light on every face in the balcony washing away their halfway smiles and putting it on my face as I knew I was right. I would have loved to be proven wrong. Although I can take a negative meaning out of it. Only for a moment, just for a blink, I clearly thought of myself as a beggar sitting on the outskirts of a busy temple asking for alms and I am barely receiving any; neither the alms nor the promise of it. The loud and irritating beats of music floods the air again bringing me out of that clear moment and sending me into confused state.