It’s raining in Pune. The night is still young but the skies look set for an all-nighter. The street lamps are glowing like fairy lights; they twinkle with every falling raindrop. The stars are all under cover but you can figure they are there somewhere, enjoying the sudden shower. The stars love anything that brings shine to the world – and takes the dust off leaves, pebbles and balcony railings.
Mom loves it when it rains at night. “I could lie listening to it for hours.” she would tell me. “It makes me dreamy, hopeful and cozy.” Mom’s poetic like that, and she would even wake up the next morning all chirpy and fresh and eager to let the post-rain winds flood the house through open windows. On occasion, the morning after would turn out sunny – the sun fiercer than ever. “Where do you think all the raindrops went?” I would tease her. “We will have fresh ones tonight. And we can both sit by the window, our hands warm around coffee mugs. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
I wonder what kind of a morning it will be tomorrow. Will the first rays of the sun brush my cheeks when I am still dreaming? Or will the two sparrows I have been lucky enough to find every morning choose to forget it is a Monday and let me sleep on? I can’t say.
But, for now, I can hear the pitter patter of raindrops. They are musical, peaceful and soothing. I think I will listen to them for a while longer. Who can tell? Perhaps this night and its music is the embodiment of yesterday and tomorrow – near yet far, continuing yet complete.