Random Scribbles: Subtle Rains
The shadow of the pregnant clouds hangs like a canopy. The sheer burden of watery weight had slowed them down, like a long drive in the slow-moving or nearly-ever-still Bengaluru traffic, where one cannot hold the bladder, yet has to be civic, lest the half a crore car smell urine in the airconditioned plush interiors. Well, in any case, they could not hold on and let them loose on the hurrying pedestrians and the luxury cars stuck in traffic. A steady flow, swaying to probably to the World FM radio playing inside the cars, or just avoiding the titillations of the cool breeze blowing in the familiar southwesterly direction.
A few yards away, it was almost like a full load, almost masking the western sky, as if the canopy folded like a curtain to the earth; but with the rumbles and grunts above, it looked like it was a case of some divine upset stomach. Anyway, another part of Bengaluru was drenched — some cars getting a much better wash than the lazy morning watchman’s efforts; homegoers cursing their last-minute bad luck for being drenched, as the insides of the airconditioned metro becoming a cesspool of sneezes and coughs, spreading the season’s flu, perhaps; those waiting for their Uber suddenly discovering that the cabs and autos vanishing — the usual 50 Rs ride home almost costing double; the few trees that survived the metro or the municipal corporation’s axe shedding the grey dust of the metros that stuck insistently, not going away with the milder pre-monsoon showers, and shining green like that once-in-a-while happiness of putting on a discarded dress found in the trashcan.
But I don’t see all of that. I see the thin showers dancing far away and the thick curtain-like cloud burst. I stare at them as if I had all the time in the world — only that I did not. The little things catch my eyes only when my mind is cluttered — my mind is mostly willing, but sometimes reluctantly busy, but never cluttered. But this Saturday evening, it is.
The clutter is about something other than the unfinished book or the still work-in-progress dream of a venture capital fund. I could not put a pin on the feeling but it was like a message coming across — it didn’t matter what the clouds felt, or how the rains fell, but they just happened. I see them as a curtain or a urinating session, while others see them as pestering peeves. I don’t give a thought about them, as I think of the rain.
A little thin drape, just vetting a street, or maybe a block, or a full load of that curtain, almost flooding a neighborhood — is it Heaven’s will or a random event that one should not take to heart? Well, most events don’t have a visible impact on our lives. After all, what can a little rain do? But, an innocuous trip turns out to be the end of a chapter — nothing earth-shattering, but a subtle pivot. It is not a full stop, but a conjunction in our life sentence.
I would admit it started with a subtle, indistinctive feeling — for I had ignored the distant rains first, then the image compelled me to go back to the balcony, without any visible feeling. The subtlety of gestures, movement, and events add up to possible insights and changes. I cannot express the effects of simple conversations — a nudge, a suggestion, or a question can put us on a train of thoughts that takes us to different destinations far into the future.
The western sky darkens, swallowing the greyness of the clouds and the rain curtains. I sit to write, not knowing where this scribble would end. Yet, here I am — at the end of this piece. Probably, the rains demonstrated this subtlety of life, after all.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2024
