i wrote this in September and do not remember why I didnt publish it then…but as they say, better late than never.
Rains in kerala are unpredictable. Sometimes a clear sky will pour out and stop as quickly as it started. Last evening, it started to rain just when I was about to go out and I had no choice but to sit down on the porch and wait for the rain to stop. I sat down and looked outside, trying not to have anything on my mind. The rain in this strange city doesn’t give you much warning. It takes just a few seconds – from the first drop to hit the ground to turning into a full blown shower. The rain didn’t bother me.
I crossed my arms and in between fiddled with my locket and watched the rain. It had already wet the steet and everything on it and the water was flowing down from the chains like it would in a stream. There was not a soul in sight as far as I could see and no sound but the sound of water flowing and tickling followed by an occasional thunder from high up.
I could picture my knight pulling me by the arm and bringing me into the rain under the sky. I could see my hair wet and dripping. I could see his smile accentuated with many tiny water drops stuck to his curved lips and dripping from his eyebrows. It wasn’t hard to picture him pulling me closer in the middle of the canopy surrounded by coconut trees and plantain trees and dance to a tune that only plays in his head.
I could picture strong winds and myself in my big old orange jacket. I could see myself hiding behind him.I could see him grinning and calling out my name. I could almost hear my laughter. I could easily visualize a game of hide and seek. I would hide and he would seek. And when he’d find me, he’d pull me and I would laugh so hard then.
The rain seemed to fade a little then. I could take a risk to start walking again. A drizzle wouldn’t kill me, I told myself. As I got out of the porch and trodded down my street, I looked back. There was no rain, only wet ground. There was no wind, no woman in an orange jacket, no dancing and no knight.
A woman’s imagination runs wild…. And imaginary stories don’t have anywhere to go. If only the feelings they brought were also imaginary….