A long time ago, someone wrote me a letter (email rather). This was someone I hardly knew but was aware of. Someone who I had hardly met.
This letter was beautiful. It was like nothing anyone had ever written for me before. It was about me. And it was about rain.
Even though at the time I was flattered about the comparison because I loved rain and because I, like every other girl that age enjoyed the attention, I never understood the connection between me and rain. It always came back to me in my thoughts as a beautiful thing a stranger wrote. It left me feeling beautiful at times when I really needed it and when everything around me failed.
At times, for long periods, I forgot about it.
Today I started reading Aleph, by Paulo Coelho.It is actually the first book I’ve read all year. I feel happy to be back into doing something I enjoy so much. Something that makes my mind travel to wherever the author wants to transport me to and teaches me new things. And I have to say, today I learned something new.
To begin with, while reading Aleph, I learnt how to have a shower. The author writes about taking a shower and letting the water carry him off to places he can’t even explain to himself.
So I did the same. I realised for a few years now, Ive been having really hot showers. High pressure showers. A ritual for cleaning. Today I tried to do as the author did, I tried to listen to the water, trickling down and feel encompassed in it. I realised that something wasn’t right. The water was too hot and too harsh. So I turned the water to cold and reduced the water pressure.
At that instant, I was transported back in time. I was standing in the middle of my courtyard back home in India during the monsoon season. The sky way dark and the cold\warm monsoon was pouring down on me and I was smiling.
Suddenly I was transported yet again. I was at the same place, my home in India. I was standing under one of the places around the house where the water falls after being collected from the roof. I was laughing and jumping and splashing the water around. I was cold and I was happy. I remember my father sitting on the veranda on his chair, with our towels. He was happy, as any father would be, that we were happy.
Ever since my father passed away, Ive been terrified to close my eyes in the shower. I am overwhelmed by the strong desire to see him again but the fear that when I open my eyes, he might actually be there smiling at me scared me. Would I be ready to see him? Do I have the courage to see someone who had left his body behind?
As I stood in the shower today, and travelled back in time. With my eyes closed, I saw my father again. Sitting on the veranda on his chair, with our towels. He was happy, as any father would be, that we were happy. I looked at him and smiled.
The whole experience reminded me of the letter that someone once wrote me. And suddenly, it made sense. The letter wasn’t a comparison of rain and me. It was about rain. It was about me. It was about rain and me.
So I would like to say thank you, to that someone who I didn’t really know that well, for writing me that letter. For knowing me so well. For helping me understand, my relationship with rain.