An October Rain.

By Aashka Parashar

It was a late, rainy afternoon in the month of October, when the  Earth bejewelled with brown and yellow leaves, is dealing with their  decomposition and the horizons are embraced by the rather  untimely arrival of fog, to the city's surprise, it was raining and the  speech-deprived species were alarmed. The air had become an  exuberant messenger of petrichor and the ash-grey coloured clouds  seemed to be conveying messages of the heavens to its beloved  Earth. It was impossible to catch a glance of breach between the rain  drops and the ground, as if two lovers had finally met after an  overwhelming amount of time under unbearable separation, each  droplet kissed the soil with such desperation. 

My relationship with rain had been a complicated one, since forever. I  was intrigued by its occurrence but never found it 'beautiful', as the  so-called 'Poets' would say.  

In fact, I never understood poets or the way they saw the world. I  never found anything extraordinary about the way a sunflower  rotates its head in the direction of the sun or the way people's eyes  glimmer when they talk about the things they love, nor did I ever feel  like I could give up the heavens or any possessions to see the love of  my life smile.

In fact, I'd never been in love. I'd dated a few people  here and there and to be honest, I enjoyed the company, the sex, the  booze and the freedom, of course. But I never felt like drowning in  their eyes or comparing them to the moon or showering them with  the stars. (I mean, what? Like the universe will let me do all that?  Idiotic!) 

And I especially, especially did not get the point in romanticising the  rains. Or even associating it with grief, for that fact.

I never walked in the rain willingly and whenever caught accidentally,  I ran for shelter.  

That day... was one such accident, annoyed by my boss's constant  nagging along with a post-hangover headache (weekend magic), I  decided to take a half day, smoke on the way home and spend the  rest of the day sleeping and appreciating joblessness. 

So, I left the office with a firm intent, went to the shop nearby,  purchased a packet of Marlboro, put one between my lips, lit it and  looked at the sky, puffing out the smoke. "Unusually dark and cloudy  for the month of October", I thought. 

By the time I could smoke only half of my cigarette, it started to rain  heavily. I stayed safe in the shelter of the shop, took out my phone,  no signal, no way to call a taxi, I slid it back into my pocket and ran  my glance around casually, content with the thought that I had all the  time in the world to waste for the day. 

It was a rather spacious, clean and thinly populated area with  symmetrical buildings and each of them had a front-facing balcony  with decorative flower pots. I started counting the number of plants  in each balcony, out of stupid curiosity (and sheer joblessness), when  my eyes got stuck on a specific one. 

A tall, skinny, whiteish woman with long hair, was leaning out from  the balcony. Only an inch further and she'd be lying on the street in  front of me, dead.  

"Idiotic", I thought, and turned my head in the other direction and  stayed like that for a time. But the same stupid curiosity took in again  and I looked back in her direction. She was not on the balcony  anymore, my eyes immediately shifted to scan the streets to check if  she really fell down. 

But she stood on the terrace this time, probably blabbering  something to herself. I kept on glaring for a minute and then pulled 

back, shaking my head as to deny myself being interested in such  hopeless gestures of pesky humankind. 

But in no longer than a moment, my gaze shifted back to find her.  Gone again! Vanished in thin air! What in the name of the lord!  

"Is she a ghost or what?!" I thought. 

She was actually on the street this time.  

No, very alive! The rain-soaked pastel blue maxi dress embraced her  rather flat physique like a love-woven silhouette and water droplets  traced their way from her thin lips to her jawline, all the way down to  her chest. She opened her arms to the sky and the rain got heavier,  as if the clouds had only assembled to watch her dance.  

She spun around in circular motions, exactly three times and then  moved forward on the street. The road was clear and she was  barefooted. She kept walking in the rain, my eyes kept following her  movement and before I could realise, I was walking alongside her, on  the other side of the road, drenched in rain.  

She kept walking, looking down at her feet, looking up at the sky, a  smile appeared on her mouth, a grin. It was a strange smile, one that  I'd never seen before, one that I could give away any possessions for,  to see it again. 

My eyes were reading the elegance of her mere existence and my  mind was subconsciously appreciating the picturesque panorama in  front of it when she suddenly looked in my direction, as if poked by a  hunch that she was being stalked. She turned around and stopped  walking. I stopped with her. 

"What do you think you're doing?", she shouted from one end. "Who do you think you are?" I shouted back from the other end. "Poet", she answered. 

And I almost saw a glimmer in her eyes, and for a brief second, I felt  like I could drown in them.

By Aashka Parashar