Song of the rain.

On waking up to a rainy day....

in a cocoon, sleeping sound
woke up to a wafting ground
a bit of the greys from the skies
fell into the brown irised eyes.

Nothing brings back the memories from the past like a droplet on the window pane as i gaze through.The deja vu of the dim lit skies, the moist earth fragrance, brings back the most cherished recollections.
It is also sensuous in a way, the stable, composed, round pearl like droplet scatters and uncoils itself in a random form, stealthily sliding past the ...teasing your sight to follow it as it melts down into the innumerable capillary streams at the rims of the walls.

This post comes after a long gap, even though i knew that all I had to do was fill in my cuppa memories and spill them all in words leaving a few stains of recollections with the readers. but it tok me so long to pick the choicest of memories and shuffle them in the in and out section. So today when i woke up to the falling skies i thougt of all that i associated with it and found the flashbacks of every stage of my life with the rains in the backdrop.
the very first memory takes me back to when i was four, strangely I can vividly recall those times perhaps because those were the best of times that i had spent as a child, or maybe due to the numerous repeatitions of the same stories by my grandparents and my mother.
this one image is of the peacocks at Kota, for those of you who do not know, Kota is a city in rajasthan , not as popular as the rest of the major cities such as Jaipur and Jaisalmer but having its fair share of tourism due its proximity with the Chittaur killa and the fort of a Rajput Queen ,Padmavati. Well, to me Kota was my maternal grandmother's house where i would spend most of my holidays in the summer and early Monsoons.
Even though the place had a well distributed population and none of the areas were what you could call sparseley poulated, quite a number of peacocks lived in harmony with the people, they mingled into the human population from the adjacent green covers and would show up very often near naanima's place (naanima is how i call to her). we often left some grains or bits of edibles for the birds, who could fly a little distance at low heights. So one rainy day , as the clouds gathered in the sky, A bird flew to the first floor even as My aunt and i stood at the other end and it started feeding on the scattered grains, varying moods they have and as I  went running to the end where it stood it flapped  away and set its foot on the ground and as soon as it touched the ground it opened the veils of its  multi hued feathers and spread them all aplomb.Majestic , rich colours before my eyes and that too at such a proximity. That was perhaps one of my first few brushes with nature's superior form of divinity and beauty. Now i stood startled and even till today I remember it like a wide eyed wonder.
That was one of the pleasent memories, however rains have not always poured down much of joy, they have also played a spoil sport quite often. I was a first grader at EvergreenWoods in  Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistaan in the year 1996. we did not have the dull uniforms , so we could wear our casual clothes to school everyday, as a youngster i was far more concerned with dressing than i could ever be, now that I have a thousand things running in my head other than appearence and clothes . I was dressed in a sleek black pleated tunic with black tights and a black pinafore top, straight off the ramp, I guess that one deserved to be at the fashion week at Milan or Paris(or atleast I would have thougt so when I got into it that morning)... I had matched my favourite black soft leather mocassins and stepped out dressed to the nines that day. It was a dull day, a little cold than the usual september breeze was rushing on our faces as my mother dropped me till the car and handed me an umbrella in the wake of the dark clouds that covered the sky.i sat in the car, it started drizzling and i observed the inoccuous droplets on the window, was delighted at the way my hair were done, was rehearsing the thankyous and the blushes that i would give when my drama teacher would utter..'.La ces magnifique' at the sight of me. My hair , poker straight and with a couple of black pins to keep them at place swayed with the breeze as i stepped out of the car to walk the long and narrow path covered with yellowed fall leaves and thats when a drop fell on my head, followed by subsequent droplets all landing on my lovely hair and the pinafore,i shuddered at them and tried to open my umbrella which was stuck and refused to budge to the little strenght that my little hands were capable of exerting on it.The rain was no longer a shower spray, it was like cascades now, and with the calamity of an umbrella that I carried I ran on the muddy path to my school's corridor, ran with the fastest, widest strides that i could take, only to slip on the mud into a puddle. no need to say what ever became of my dress, not only was it ruined and mucked it was also torn at the edges by a sharp fence and so was I ..bruised and tattered and out of my classes for a week.. Not that I am really graceful or impeccable, rather i seem to be on the edge of clumsy and weird but that fall figures in the most embarassing moments of my life,facing a whole class of girls, giggling with beautiful costumes in a muddied dress is not much of a dream. I guess i  left behind dressing to please others after this and another few instances.

however the most wonderful memory of the rains coms from my adoloscence, rather the closing years of adoloscence ,. I was sixteen and A couple of my friends and i shared a cab to school, It had been pouring for  almost a whole day without a stop and the whole city was submerged in puddles of muddy brown, Luck shined and our cab broke a few metres away from the school,, so we were left to this choice of taking a wet walk till the school that was in sight but still far enough for us to get soaked in the rain,I had no inhibitions whatsoever and wanted to make it on time so I convinced all of them to step out,and walk the few metres lashing the puddles with quick steps and enjoying the rain on our face, inside there was a little fear from the stringent supervisor we had....RVD(Mrs. Rajni Vasudeva ) and how she would react on seeing us drenched and absolutely dis oriented. Our school compond was six feet below the ground and soon enough we realised the consequences, the ground floor of the senior section was pretty wet and the auditorium in the basement was almost flooded till water that was knee deep. It was a matter of grave concern for the athorities but for the eleventh graders this was an oppurtunity to have the time of their lives at the school. Classes had to be shuffeled and we were immediately shifted to the first floor.The day was full of chaos as teachers struggled to find the classrooms with the makeshift seating plans and the clashing timetables. We even mislead some of them to classrooms that were empty and managed to sneak out the most wonderful time of our schooldays as friends gathered their desks and made the most out of the rains outside and the mischief inside. We stood in the corridors hanging from the balconies, looking at the running staf members who tried to save the the auditorium from damage. Even made paper boats , as we fondly recollected the childhood games. splashed puddles. As for me and a couple of friends who had reached the school with water trailing from our uniforms, we were offered towels and hot drinks by the supervisor who even allowed us to sit bare foot while our socks and shoes dried. She even let the girls dry off there hair and that day the school seemed more like a second home, with even teachers pouring in some of their most fond recollections of the rains.It all enede with the sun coming out by late noon and all of us being sent back home with a day of absolute fun engraved

those were the best days of my yet lived life....ad would always be recollected like the tune of a wonderful rain song that often plays in our subconscious as we hear the musical pitter patter. Wonder if i could ave a playlist to associate with these recollections..hmm:)

Harry Potter and the Girl who never lived ...duh!!!

I was getting sick of The Potter paranoia that spreads like an arsonists intentions every time there's a release on the corner... be it the Books or the movies. It doesn't help if a few of of your very close and very intelligent rationalist friends are sucked into the typhoons generated by the masses who find absolutely anything that is off the limits of reality worthy of worship. This time though there was a smug satisfaction..... after all even the tag line to the movie said 'It all ends"......(..ha ha..finally!!!!! I thought to myself.)

I know I risk being assassinated by few of my own kins, have invited more hatred than the evil dark lord....The one who shall be named in the same breath as my name by the maniacs I know, but before you really plot to kill me people here's the catch. It all takes a twist......read further.

I had read the first three potter books with unmatched interest and even till date i could only utter praise for the author for being able to create a parallel magical world. You could call it the printed match to the much acclaimed and awarded Avatar by Cameron or maybe as the chorus of the Potter fans would sing ....its incredible and unparalleled literature.
 then why this aversion...hmmm....
there are quite a few logical and absolutely ridiculous explanations to the same...and the story goes back to when i was a grade four student:

 i fist heard about these delightful books from a teacher close to the release of the fourth book...Harry potter and the goblet of fire . It was 1997 when the first book was published and the fact that i had missed something that by the sound of it seemed so larger than life  was a little irritating. I dwell ed in books, there was an appetite for all classic Enid Blyton mysteries and Ruskin bond and quite a lot of the others. Its a boon here in India for the parents if the child has a strong inclination towards reading, this talent is exploited to shove the child into studies without any resistance. so it was predictable that all my birthday gifts were Encyclopedias that I devoured out of the habit of reading everything that could be spelt.
So I thought that it might just be easy to convince my dad to make a gift out of the first four books in the series. I  was obviously wrong, My dad nodded to the demands at once but when he discovered the books were about some magical mumbo jumbo, he scoffed at the taste of the general people and remarked that he would rather spend that amount on a Britannica.Of course he had his way.
i have looked up to my dad since i was four, so even though we had a conflicting opinion i agreed nodding at his observation and then started looking for the other sources to have my way(Oops!!...did I tell u I have been a rebel !!!!)

the next book appeared somewhere in 2003 and in this gap of three years I had begged, borrowed and exchanged my way to reading the first three and well I had even lapped up the first two movies (thanks to our school trips to the movies) . Obviously it had started growing on me and it wasn't long before i fund myself bonkers about the franchise. then my life took a serious turn(Dramatic!!!!)......
i was a seventh class student with plummeting marks ( well from sixth itself)..... I had to work my way out of this Mire . so for the next one year, in class eighth I started reading my text books with half the enthusiasm but still purely out of academic pursuit. I missed the fourth movie, I missed the fifth book,and I realized I was alive and kicking and my parents were certainly delighted that I had topped in my class if not all the sections.what my father and i would define as depth with poetry, started reading Paulo Coelho and then never looked back.

well once I did...again an interesting story .....
In ninth one of my Potter Pumpkin classmate brought her fifth book along and i was tempted to read it , but so was her secret crush(not that much of a secret though)... who also happened to be a friend. she left us to fight with the book being the bone of contention and when i was successful in snatching it out of his hand i realized I was letting a petty book take control of my self. i immediately offered it back and vowed never tio let it carry me away like the other lesser divine beings. I am my father's daughter.

Lets take a leap and come back to the present. one of my very dear friends wanted to avenge me for my taunts and the polite but offensive anti potter comments. she realized that she could do that by infesting my bloodline with a potter fan,so she lent my sister the first book. As if the whole potter chatter on networking sites was any less, my own home was now ringing with potter praise.(what could be worse?)....the worse was yet to come. my sister vowed to attain the whole series(she generally has her way).when she brought the second book...Harry Potter and the Chamber of secrets, I remembered how it was my favourite out of the ones I had read. so when she slept with the book under her pillow I sneaked it out and flipped through my favourite parts, skimming through the treasure, recollecting faint ly the exact phrases before my eyes. Soon enough I found myself controlling my bladder imperatives to complete the book in two hours flat.

Thats when i realized that i still had a soft spot for The boy who lived and how I whole heartedly supported the good over the evil plot.

When you grow up, become so cynical and rational and stop believing in magic. these little reminders from childhood linger and you live in sanity. i understand why my generation still ardently adores potter, He gave us something to believe in, something to hold on to. An escape to Hogwarts when the real world took toll on us.
He made visit my childhood dreams and fantasies, the little girl who had never lived enough.....

I might not be as devoted as to go and catch the last part instantaneously but I admit, I might just gift my own children the whole series. and help my sister add to her library:)

NOSTALGIA.....your a B**CH

Please do understand that I hate sensationalism and profanity is the last resort that i would sought to make this a juicy read. In fact I am not keen on people who read to fill themselves with scandals and controversial issues.(trust me I have been misleading with my titles but have steered clear of controversy..haven't I?;) )

so naturally curiosity arises of the intentions I have when you read the Block letters that i have put up there loud and clear. Its suggestive of some recollections, yes. Are they going to be the wretched emotional sort? no.
from here to the next few posts its going to be a journey through guilt that has emerged from the past and there consequence. not exactly fun(as it is defined by the kitsch standards)...but amusing nevertheless.

As it is said...A Blast from the Past...!!;)