Notes on a rainy day

Did no one else hear the squish from my sneakers? I curl my feet and press it down urgently. The murky froth hisses out from under my feet. In spite of the rain beating against every noisy surface, my noise is noticed and people look at me.

Hence, curiosity is not hampered by weather and physical difficulties.

I watch the reddish blur hurtle towards the bus stop. People slip and tiptoe towards the bus, using every object and human being as support. The driver doesn't pause long enough for everyone to board and the bus rushes out leaving damp fumes and swearing men behind. Was the driver smiling?

Hence, people retain a sadistic streak irrespective of the situation.

A sudden cackle of palm sized feet cutting through water renders the air. A bunch of little boys cart-wheel through the puddles. They paint each other with muddy water and the world with their laughter. A boy in a smart raincoat strains against the leash of his mother's sophistication.

Hence, people still differentiate between what is good for themselves and for others.

I don't know why she twirls her fingers thus. Her knit brows toss as many thoughts as her fingers weave airy loops. With each flick of the thumb she pulls at the invisible braid that ties them together and he finally jogs down with a sheepish grin. She pouts, arms akimbo and he grabs her tenuous waist. She softens to his grasp and the shower beats a familiar old tune, known only to them.

Hence, the rain, in its fall, does raise romantic fragrances.

I feel a tug and look downward expecting a stray frog or the like. I find a handicapped boy with one arm holding on to my trouser and the other hand held out in hope. I watch him as he starts reeling out his well practiced story of being abandoned and not having eaten for ages and how the rains destroyed his house. I wait for him to complete and look away. What will he do now? He spits near my shoe and drags himself towards the next human leg.

Hence, one's condition doesn't always polish one's personality.

I stretch my foot out into the rain and wash stray threads of spittle. How dare he behave like that? Dirty mongrel! He deserves his maimed legs. I wish no one spares him a rupee. I hope he passes by me and I will kick him with the same foot. A car speeds past us and shoots a sheet of muck on him. I smile with joy and mutter sharply, "Good!" He wipes his face and swears at the rear bumper of the disappearing car. Once he is done, he pleads to the nearest lady, "See? This is how life treats me. Won't you spare me a rupee? If not peace at least I can buy a few slices of bread. Please." I secretly pray that the lady doesn't give him anything and she dutifully turns her face towards the far end of the road.

Hence, prayers are answered and life will always remain partial.