Blossoms in rainy days

Rain had mostly been a nuisance in her life, lately. Muddy roads, getting to office in wet clothes and with the arrival of the monsoons, carrying an umbrella had become a necessity. It’s amusing, how things change with time. During her high school days, in the convent, how she used to die to splatter water & intentionally miss to carry the umbrella, just to walk home getting wet in the rain. How blissful those days were!

With work getting more hectic, day by day, life has more or less turned into a routine now. She wished, if her life would take turns too, like the turnstiles against which she swiped in her id cards every day .Today has been just another busy day. Since there was no time for a detailed lunch, she grabbed a fruit bowl from food court & walked towards her cubicle. As she walked, she quickly picked up pieces of apple and popped inside her mouth. Then she took pineapple and then came watermelon. The seeds of watermelon got caught inside her mouth. She took the seeds out of her mouth and tossed them at the side, into the soil & swiftly took steps towards her cubicle.

                                                                     ***

2 days later, on a lazy Monday morning.

With a cup of hot coffee in her hands, she looked out of the glass window beside her desk. It had rained heavily, in the past 2 days. Was weather lovely today, or was it because she had some leisure time today, for a change! It was now she perceived how magnificent& graceful the campus looked, in rainy days. She had a beautiful scenic view from her cubicle. Just as her eyes strayed, she spotted the watermelon seed she had spit out, 2 days back. To her awe, it had germinated into a tiny sapling with two little leaves. The rain has done its magic, yet again, she contemplated. She was fascinated like a young girl, catching the sight of it. She smiled, at herself, and at the rare moment of her childlike innocence.

The next day, she remembered to have a look at the plantlet, on her way to the cubicle. It had grown a bit more than it was the previous day. She carefully laid some soil from the side over the sapling for support. As it gets tendrils, I would need to place a branch or a cane for the plant to creep over, she thought. As a child, she was always affectionate towards having a garden on her own. But as one grew older, the heartier dreams dwindle.

She was 8.

In her garden bloomed cosmos flowers,

marigold

and little roses in pink.

One day a tomato plant germinated

In her garden.

And then it grew into a plant.

One day it bore the fruit.

She adored the little tomato like a just-born-baby.

It’s miraculous how every little girl has a mother in her. To love unconditionally is only what motherhood is acquainted with. She contemplated, reminiscing her juvenile days.

The next Monday.

It was a bright sunny day.  She walked past the food court towards the plantlet. She was curious to see how it would’ve got tendrils, by now. Walking down the path, she realized that the plant wasn’t there. So were the other weeds that grew beside her. The gardener had trimmed off the plant along with the other weeds. Agonized, she realized how effortless it was to, to get dreams shattered, and lives stagnant and, how happiness lied, in the simplest of the things.

Satirically, she smiled at the thought how proud she always felt about the campus being kept spick-and-span, devoid of dust and weeds. Devoid of life and joy.

                            

Dreams of her

I wonder if I could ever be free. No strings attached.

I wish I could go on walks alone,

late at nights and

eat omlette from the roadside vendors.

I wish I could travel alone to places I’ve never heard about,

and take pictures.

If I could get wet in the rain,

And get tanned under the sun,

And walk barefoot,

And my hair open.

I wish I could wear skirts with red flowers on it.

If I could stay on tree houses,

And stay awake all night listening to the music of the nature.

I wish I could swim in cold waters,

If I could fish and cook.

I wish.

I wish I could one day go,

To the land where I belong.

The scent of the first rain.

If this rain could soak me though my skin,

and I could absorb the rain like the earth,

and I could be in love, like the rain & the earth,

then I could have celebrated your arrival,

and in those nights when we made love,

a divine fragrance would have been born,

-the scent of the first rain.

Kannadi Valaiyal

Summer. The Gulmohar tree was at its supreme radiance, with its red flowers. Murugan was overwhelmed by the view outside the jail gate. Partly, by the Gulmohar flowers. There was not even a faint smile on his lips. He was numb! Seven years of imprisonment was one for a lifetime. But he was happy, extremely. When he thought about Malarvizhi, he wanted to kiss her forehead and embrace her, tightly and tell her how much he was waiting for this moment. As he sat in the bus, memories flashed back in his mind. After he was in jail, he had never seen his daughter, Malarvizhi, not even once. She was just 8 years old, then. He just had a vague image of her, in his mind. Never did he write to her, or tried meeting her, not once in these 7 years. A deep sense of regret rose within him. He consoled himself that she would surely forgive him, for that. The bus reached its last stop. It was dusk. He got down from bus and walked towards a shop. He wanted to buy glass bangles for her, green ones! He recollected how she used to ask him to get green bangles for her, when she was little, at the temple fairs. He held the bangles wrapped in newspaper, and walked ahead. Everything had changed, the lanes, the roads. Unfamiliarity all around. He reached the tiled house. That was the only thing that hadn’t changed much. Except for some parts of the wall which was covered with moss. He knocked the door. He could hear the tinkling of anklets towards the door. He could see her through the glass pane of the window. She had grown beautiful, like her mother. He found it difficult to look at her, through the window pane. He felt remorseful. How could he face her? Forgival from her was way too far, he couldn’t forgive himself. After all he was a murderer.-of her mother. Glass bangles slipped from his hands. They broke. Her favorite, pachai kannadi valaiyal! They broke. So did he.