The blobs of black clouds I saw outside suggested it was going to rain. I gazed at the sky, listened to the rumble, took in the petrichor. My dusty window pane waited to wear pretty rain stains on its tinted cloak.
There was anticipation in the air. And with it, a feeble fear in the heart that the clouds may go unfallen. The rain is very temperamental. It can beguile and it can betray. It can wreck or revive.
Standing by the window, I felt like waiting for a letter from a loved one when the postman rings the bell at the turning. Will he pass by my gate without delivering my beloved’s mail?
The postman cycled past, shook his head as if to say, ‘You have no mail.’
The waiting was over. The sun peered out slowly as the clouds moved and made way. They must have fallen elsewhere.
Come to think of it, not all rains are the same. Some are just monsoons. Some, a reprieve from voiceless weariness. Some, a mere blip in a summer’s daydream.
And some, just passing clouds decked with drizzles. Like it was today.