I wept today also. There is something in the rain that makes me lugubrious. Still I never hated the rain. In fact I have always been in love with the rain. A relationship with someone whom I always loved, someone who always made me cry. For the past one month, I have been nostalgic for some or the other reason. I still am nostalgic. In the beginning I was blissfully nostalgic, with the sweet cherished memories of my childhood coming back to me quite often. Now it has become melancholic.

Looking back, the first incident connected with rain that I remember is meandering with my childhood friend in the courtyard in front of our house. We were actually sailing through the water, with the designer umbrella in one hand, and a paper boat in the other. Then suddenly a wind blows, and the umbrella flies away from my hand. We both start chasing the umbrella, and I can hear my mom’s loud voice asking us to get back.

The next thing I remember is, I am sitting alone in the balcony of my house. I have grown much older. It is raining heavily outside, and I am relishing the sensation created by the water sprinkles which come with the breeze on to my face. I am trying to capture the whiff of the soil which came along with the cold breeze.

Till this, I am perfectly happy. Now the sad part comes. I am sitting on my bed, gazing through the window. I can see a person who is totally drenched hurrying towards our house. Looks like I need to welcome that person. Sadly he never reaches our house… I realize this person is non existent. I am feeling very lonely. Suddenly my mind goes into doldrums. All the bad moments of my life so far comes in, frame by frame. The opportunities I missed, the people I am missing, suddenly the solitude that I was enjoying, makes me weep. The worst part (or good part rather!) is, I don’t want to get away from this solitude. I always love this moment. These are the priceless moments of my life. These moments keep reminding me about who I am and where I stand. And I would like to be reminded always…

I always loved the rain… and will always be my first love.

“It rained in Macondo for four years, eleven months, and two days. There were periods of drizzle through which everyone put on his dress and a convalescent look to celebrate the clearing, but people soon grew accustomed to interpret the pauses as a sign of redoubled rain. The sky crumbled into a set of destructive storms and out of the north came hurricanes that scattered roofs about and knocked down walls and uprooted every last plant of the banana groves.” — From One Hundred Years of Solitude.

I wish I were in Macondo.

(I have been having this feeling since my fifth class. Though the incidents are different, the basic underlying feelings remain the same)

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