As the rains fall, the earth is washed and the air is pure again. As a child I rejoiced in the rains, jumping into mud pools, floating paper boats, or catching raindrops with my mouth wide open face upturned to the skies.
I love the smell of the first rains hitting the dry earth… it smells of a promise of restoration. It’s the most soothing thing to cuddle into a light blanket and read to the rhythm of the rain. And there’s nothing quite as easing as a warm shower after a long day.
A rainy day is great time for introspection. Everything quiet except the drama unfolding from the skies. My most magical rain experience was in Goa many years ago. Goa has these extensive rainfalls that just do not stop for days and days and days. It was a beautiful night near the seaside with thunder and lightning orchestrating in the skies. Often startling but just magical to see nature at its stark rawest beautiful. It humbled me and made me realise what a little speck of existence I was in the big grand design of nature that has so many micro components that keep the earth alive.
The poetry of water fascinates me despite the darkness that it can also bring submerging and claiming land and lives as it rages unbridled in the monsoon. The rains make me question why you think you can wash away your sins in holy waters when you cannot cleanse your soul. It teaches me about the cycle of life in the journey of a drop of water.
Rains that restore, that destroy, that heal, that hurt… rains magical rains.
And Nikita Gill’s poem echoes in my mind:
When they ask you why you love the rain, the ocean, the river, tell them it is because unlike the people who should have loved you better, the water was never afraid to touch you; even when you were at your most damaged and broken.