Then there was rain. It was expected to come in when the
summer gets over. Usually the first shower will drench the loneliness of the
city at night. But today, it came early and chose to quell the afternoon heat.
I had to shut the windows against the rain, kept open to allow the hot breeze
to flow into the room, to relieve the wet, sticky heat that’s common at this
hour. I walk to the balcony, to look at the vast expanse of green that you can
see; the different shades of green starting from the immediate plot of land
beside my house that hasn’t fallen to construction yet, and then the mangrove
that lies along the bank of the smelly creek, visible in parts. You can hardly
see all this now, covered in a sheet of grey as the dull colour of the sky
blended with the thickness of the rain. The leaves of the nearby trees were
sodden, and the wind was driving the rain into the queue of buildings on my
right, against its wish. The glass panes were misted over from the heat inside.
I decided to take a walk down to the nearby café, a small joint often crowded
by coffee amateurs and young couples. I don’t know why but I always found the
concept of coffee and cigarettes in the backdrop of cold, dull, relentless rain
romantic. I also felt an urge to walk in the first rain of the season. Like
freshly brewed coffee in an earthen cup, the smell of the first rain on dry
earth almost always suffused my senses and left me intoxicated.
The café, built on the corner of a crossroad, opened a large
slice of the city life to view. From the window one can see a variety of
actions unfolding in the shimmering mid-day heat. But today the scene was
different but one in its note. As heavy shower soiled the roads and the
pavements, catching the passersby unaware, I saw wet figures running for
shelter, bikers cringing on the seat, frantic to find a dry spot. I saw all
this as I sat in the cozy corner of the joint, my wet figure finding comfort in
the warmth of the coffee as I sipped on it. I realized that I started enjoying
it.
I was listlessly looking outside, happy to escape the
predicament the rain has put others into, and a girl came into the café and sat
by herself at a table near me. She had a pretty face, drops of water glistening
on her cheek, giving her a look of a freshly minted coin. She ran her fingers
through her thick, curly hair, now wet in rain. I looked at her and she
disturbed me. I looked out of the window again to see the rain, but my thoughts
have scattered, and now my mind was filled with her image. I turned at her
again, but she had placed herself so she could watch the street and the
entrance and I knew she was waiting for someone. I looked out again at the rain
that had slowed down, and now only a gentle stream ran on. I was trying to get
my thoughts back, to keep my mind off this girl. I ordered for another coffee
and I watched the girl whenever I looked up. I took up a magazine that was
lying on the table. I didn’t require it before, as the rain and the world kept
me happy. But now this girl has found a place in my imagery of this rainy
afternoon. She belonged to me, I thought, like the way the rain, the wet earth
and the sodden leaves and the wet figures on the road belonged to me and I
belonged to my thought. I was far inside my thoughts and was lost in it, and I
didn’t realize how long it was, nor did I look around, or think where I was,
till I felt tired and my senses resumed. I turned at the table again to look
for her, but she was gone. I hope she went with a good man, I thought. But I
was sad. The rain had stopped.
