The morning after the rains

It has been raining incessantly for a few days now. I don’t quite like it this way. The entire world seems damp, and cluttered, and grey. The streets are nearly flooded. It’s hard to commute to work, and is equally hard to stay back at home, alone. And find the right ingredients to make your own cup of coffee. At work, life is easier with the coffee machine. And it feels good to meet and say hello to people (with the same purpose) who gather around it.

But I quite like the morning after the rains. It is always so tranquil, and clear, and vibrant. The water droplets on the windowpane sparkle like jewels. The puddles still joyfully show off the fading ripples. The trees appear greener, as if they have changed into brand-new pullovers, and the fallen leaves beneath look like a cozy bedside rug, glistening with the wetness. Every small thing, all around, seems to be slightly more at peace than the usual, a little more graceful than the ordinary- you will always recognize these mornings by the trace the rains leave behind them. This is perhaps like how you will always recognize a Libra woman by the nice fragrance she leaves behind her (I was reading Linda Goodman last night, and that is where this comes from!).

I hadn’t seen much of the mornings as a young boy. I struggled to get up from bed early. My parents weren’t particularly impressed with this. They were certain, people who couldn’t wake up early, plan their day, and work hard to achieve their dreams would never make it big in life (I didn't, they proved right, and we now have a consensus on this at home). But as I grew up, I started doing better on the waking-up-early part occasionally, and I discovered how beautiful mornings really could be!

And there’s this one thing that I find so outstandingly beautiful - I wonder if you have ever witnessed the first light of the morning shine on a huge stained glass window of a church, illuminating it in many colours; the motifs distinctly emerging in countless shades, brilliant and subtle, and soon turning gorgeous, seeming like a finely woven fabric with strands of a million colours held against the sunlight; the images interweaving to evoke a theme, the figures of the saints and their disciples quintessentially narrating an episode, and the most elegant of floral paintings adding opulently to the magnificence!

Now I can’t help but think you think I am thinking way too seriously about these mornings. I indeed am. I am even considering the possibility of starting to plan my day, and working hard to achieve my dreams, a plenty of them. I have miles to go before I sleep (that’s my favourite Robert Frost line, and the only line I can remember from the poems in school- embarrassing!).