It is called rain, but there are so many types of rain.
Damned rain, which never ends, day after day, week after week, flooding rivers
and towns. Blessed rain, after a hot spell, refreshing the air, helping us get
back our breath; streams acquire fresh energy, toads rejoice in their ponds,
roots spread out in the earth. Icy water rains; summer rains which turn to
hail; lukewarm showers on the tropics, where the sky clouds over for half an
hour everyday, and then comes clear again. Flashing rain in equatorial
typhoons.
We all know what rain is, but exactly what is it? According
to the dictionary, it is “condensed moisture of atmosphere falling visibly in
separate drops.” This scientific approach makes us smile. These natural
sciences would deprive us of our sense of wonder, but there is wonder in all
things, and those who do not see it are deaf, dumb and blind. Wonder is not
presumptuous, but humble. Actually, rain is different according to the place
and creature. Ants see a drop of rain as an enormous elastic ball; rain inspires
earthworms to come up; it does’nt wet fish, and produces a mirage in the
desert.
Lovers love the rain. They huddle, just the two of them,
under one umbrella, detached from everyone else, alone and happy in their tiny
space of a world. The truly terrible rain is that of the soul, subtle,
insistent, endless within us. Beware of it, it represents a temptation,
cancelling the wonders of the universe and the divine presence.
What do I feel?
Yeh daulat bhee le lo, yeh shohrat bhee le lo,
Bhale chheen lo mujh se meri jawani,
Magar mujh ko lauta do mera woh bachpan,
Woh kagaz ki kashti, woh bearish ka paani.