For The Ghost Who Sweats

Though I am not so regular on the blog circles, I thought this is necessary for a person (me) who made me believe in humans and people again.

I thought long and hard about what to write, so that me would want to read it too – then it struck me – rains. And incidentally, it was raining a while ago.

Though I was cooped up inside the office, the sound of water thrashing the windows, the smell of damp earth wafting through to your senses made me want to go out and get drenched to the soul – in the Chennai rain.

There was a time, when I went to Marina Beach, when I sat at the shore, wanting to scream my anguish out but couldn’t. Call me a coward or call me lazy, I just sat there till the last remnants of evening light set on the other end of the majestic buildings that line the road near Marina.

I wrote furiously, what I still don’t know; maybe I would post it on my blog one of these days. As I was writing, I wanted it to rain. But then again I didn’t want it to happen; because rain would mean getting wet and consequently answering questions by my family, whom I hadn’t told I was at Marina.

The rains would have washed away my tears along with it. If I had been drenched in it. I could have consoled myself that the skies were crying along with me. But as usual, being the agnostic I am, rains didn’t materialise. Though the skies were a brilliant myriad of colours.

Me, or whatever your name is, have you ever tried imagining some thing to happen, and yet, when it actually happens you are not happy with it?

Me, I hope you are not tired of reading this. Because there are two states of existence for me – extreme privation and then joy, which I try to find in everything I do.

So, I wait for a comment on my contribution to the rains, and yet not “chase” them.