Monsoon. Melancholy. Two words forever linked.
What is it about rain that hazes away all productivity and pushes your mind towards a ideal pursuit of laziness? And yet the melody of water hitting the roof, the scent of earth mingling with the sky makes your senses dance until your hands writhe to create.
Rain and contradiction. Two more words forever linked. Yes, really. Think about it. Doesn’t the view through a rain-drenched glass appear both unclear and intense? The edges of the world are obscured, the colors enhanced. Scents transfuse louder, sounds fall muffled.
Even our sense of sight and perspective changes. The falling threads of water blur the background, bringing the foreground into sudden, clear focus so you notice things that have been perpetually present but were always camouflaged.
A baby sparrow tittering under a long leaf. The necklace of diamonds clinging to the drooping clothesline. A shivering kitten crouched beneath a carton. The family of ants marching on the jagged edge of a boundary wall.
The very fabric of space appears unclear, but the impression of time is more languid, sensitive and thus, the moments passing-by linger in your memories. Linger long after the skies have cleared and the clouds have withered to Helios’ heat.
It is these lingering muzzy moments you remember the most later, when the clock strikes three and sleep vanishes to visit a ball. That one drizzly morning when you cuddled to the sound of rain… That other rainy evening when your car war towed and you splashed your way home just because… That one terrible thundery night when you had your worst fight…
Rain, like its reminiscence, is lasting in both damage and restitution. Be it material or memory, real or transient, rain does not dwell in half-measures. It makes red appear crimson, love feel bewitched and pain cut deeper.
Why else would we love it?