Let me share one of my childhood memories with you all. It was raining and I was sitting on a window sill enjoying the beauty of the rain. It was a lovely sight. The weather had cooled down.
Have you ever witnessed a road when it starts to rain? People all round are suddenly moved into action—some run to the nearest place for shelter and some struggle to open their umbrellas.
I enjoy the rainy season a lot. The only thing I am scared of is the thunder and lightening. I always pray to God when the sky thunders.
As a kid, I would write messages in small pieces of paper and share it with my friends. I have let slippers slip into the water and have run behind it. I used to enjoy these playing these games.
My childhood memories bring Rabindranath Tagore’s poem The Rainy Day to my mind:
Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the forest.
O child, do not go out!
The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads against the dismal sky; the crows with their draggled wings are silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river is haunted by a deepening gloom.
Our cow is lowing loud, tied at the fence.
O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.
Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain water is running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who has run away from his mother to tease her.
Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.
O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry is closed.
The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly-rushing rain; the water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.
The evening lamps must be made ready.
O child, do not go out!
The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.
Have you ever witnessed a road when it starts to rain? People all round are suddenly moved into action—some run to the nearest place for shelter and some struggle to open their umbrellas.
I enjoy the rainy season a lot. The only thing I am scared of is the thunder and lightening. I always pray to God when the sky thunders.
As a kid, I would write messages in small pieces of paper and share it with my friends. I have let slippers slip into the water and have run behind it. I used to enjoy these playing these games.
My childhood memories bring Rabindranath Tagore’s poem The Rainy Day to my mind:
Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the forest.
O child, do not go out!
The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads against the dismal sky; the crows with their draggled wings are silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river is haunted by a deepening gloom.
Our cow is lowing loud, tied at the fence.
O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.
Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain water is running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who has run away from his mother to tease her.
Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.
O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry is closed.
The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly-rushing rain; the water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.
The evening lamps must be made ready.
O child, do not go out!
The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.
The last line is particularly a favourite of mine.
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