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I have always loved rain as a young boy. I used to play with my siblings in our garden every time it rained. Our parents dreaded it because we would get sick every time. They tried to stop us but we snuck out whenever they weren’t looking. For me, rain is a lot more than paper boats, muddy clothes, nostalgia and hot bhajias. For me, rain carries an essence of spirituality. The sound of water touching the ground is serene like a Sufi song. I get lost in its
melody.

I started avoiding rain as I grew older because I couldn’t afford to lose myself anymore. It felt like a daydream too close to reality. But today I stand still as the water drips off my eyelashes leaving smudged kohl on my cheeks. Like the droplets stuck at the corner of the leaves, everything about this day is pristine. The water washes off the mud on my football shoes along with my inhibitions. Like a prayer it cleanses everything it touches,
leaving the truth bare.

I am ready to lose myself today. In the sound of the rain, I’m ready to listen the sound of those red bangles that I stole from my mother’s cupboard. With this water slipping off my skin I’m ready to wash off their definition of masculinity. I’m ready to open my soaked man bun and let the cool breeze teasingly dry off my tresses. I am ready to look beyond the clouds at the freshly washed skies and make its rainbow tiara my own.

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