The dark, gloomy clouds hang over me, waiting to flag off a downpour. I look up for the tiniest ray of hope, but the sun evades me. I step out of the confines of my home and gingerly walk along the wet road. I scan my path continously to avoid the puddles that have cropped up everywhere. Mosquitoes circle my arms and ankles, hoping to make me a meal. Distracted, arms flailing, I somehow stagger across to the main street.
I end up jumping back and forth frequently to avoid the muddy splashes from the impatient vehicles. The ends of my pants now bear the muddy scars of this ongoing battle. To top it all, suddenly, droplets of water fall on my face from up above. I rush to open the umbrella – surprisingly and thankfully, it obliges. A while later, an auto appears as an answer to my prayers and I waste no time to jump inside. And now the umbrella decides to put up a stubborn fight, splattering me in the process. I somehow succeed in closing it and sigh in relief, to be finally covered and moving.
The sigh was however quite shortlived, as the bumpy roads caused a bus to squirt all the muddy water inside. This time I had to just sit and endure it as I had nowhere to run. I prayed for protection from this endless onslaught and somehow reached the destination. I ran for my life, got inside and settled down in the heavenly warmth.
I casually open the gateways of social media to while away time and I come across many words of admiration about the steady downpour outside. Some immersed this force of nature in the very essence of romance while others smothered it with all the wonderful adjectives available. I stared at the screen and then at the raging rain outside, incredulously. Am I living on the same planet as these people? Is it an illusion?
I throw my phone away, the clouds outside now reflect the mood inside. I hate rain.
Picture courtesy : Pinterest