After a long day of deliberation, scattered clouds finally agreed to coalesce and condense into rainfall. Rains have a strange effect on the city and its dwellers. As the city is purged off its pollution and the milieu settles into an easy pace; its dwellers disoriented with the freshness, turn introspective and moody.
A cup of tea becomes imperative in such weather to break these spells of self-reflection.
“What is your earliest memory of rain?” She enquired while putting the tea cups on the table.
He was looking out of the window and thinking of words that could describe the sound of rainfall.
“Come on... stop being so reclusive.” She spoke and passed the cup of tea to him.
He nestled the warm cup in his hand and tried to breathe in the aroma of cardamom and the scent of earth simultaneously.
"Every morning I used to wait for my school bus at the end of the colony road. I usually came a good 15-20 minutes before the bus was scheduled to come, and waited reluctantly with my school bag on my shoulder. Standing there, I always hoped that the bus would break down or the driver would fall ill and I wouldn’t have to go to school.”
Both of them sipped some tea at the same time. He continued-
“On one such morning, as I waited for the wretched bus a white feather came floating in the air and got stuck in my hair. I took it out and kept it in my pocket. I sensed that the morning breeze was slightly cooler, birds were not chirping with morning madness and everything was quiet as if waiting for something to happen. I looked around to see if anything else was different; the dairy booth was still not open, not one stray dog was in sight and no morning-walkers greeted each other. Everything seemed strange and then suddenly big drops of water poured from the sky and I was drenched even before I could rush back home.”
“And, you didn’t have to go to school.” She exclaimed.
“Yes, I didn’t go to school that day on the pretext of getting soaked, but the bus did come at the scheduled time and the driver did not fall ill. This is my earliest memory of rainfall and it still fills me with a sense of tragic optimism.” He concluded.
She smiled and sipped her tea. How much she enjoyed his half-made stories with rusks and tea.