A walk under the clouds


My heart now hums quite comfortably on the sixth lap .... strange how malleable the human body is. Train it, and it will learn. The raindrops have been floating down for a lap now and I have been able to ignore them so far. I decide against the seventh lap. The skies have become darker and the even over the sound of my beating heart and rushing blood, my instinct has made its decision.

My evening jogging sessions have become my sanctuary, offering a space where the soul and the mind meet under cloudy skies and above soft red earth. The rain hastens as I begin the kilometer walk back. On the road, vehicles shriek their horns in vain. The communication protocol that was once established on Indian roads, when very few vehicles had horns, has now completely wasted away. Yet, no one seems to be thinking.

Strange, I wonder. For a country famed for its spiritual beacons and towering swamis who gave the world the notion of internal inquiry, we have so little regard for silence.

The rain has now intensified to a downpour. In the refracted rays of the yellow sodium vapour lamp, the rain falls in sheets, much like the contrived rain showers you see in the movies. I wonder if I should make a run for it. I decide against it, trying to recreate the experience of indulging in the elements again. I loved to walk in the rain as a child, and I haven't done it for the longest time, thanks to the layers of protection that we are obliged to create against nature.

My skin is now drenched through my shirt as it gleams like a waterfall. I walk on, trying to remember where all the dog poop was so I can avoid it on the road. On the road vehicles plough on, delivering their occupants to destinations where they shall carry on planned and unplanned activities for the evening.

Day laborers cover their heads with sheets of plastic, thinking about getting to their homes, and to their dear ones where they can share a meal of cooked rice and 'rasam'. They ignore the fact that vehicles do not wait for them to cross the road as they should... they are, like me at some level, I'm sure, unaware of their own rights and place in the world.


A fruit vendor rushes to cover his merchandise with more plastic, taking great care to tuck in the sheet without much regard for his own uncovered back. The merchandise represents his tomorrow, which he will invest in at the cost of his today, again, much like so many others at varying points in the economic ladder.

I think of my commitments for the evening... I have an international conference call that will help in the creation of a product that will seek to justify its own value. As I think about preparing for it in the rain, I step over a small obstacle and plonk my foot straight into a puddle of water. My shoes and feet are completely wet. I hate that feeling.

As I walk on, young couples talk over the pouring rain standing beside their parked motorbikes under a small tree. They are oblivious to everything but each other, and even more oblivious to their own topics of conversation. They are enjoying the rain as much as I am.

I reach home amidst these, and many more sights, all coloured by the rain. Life in its interaction with a changing facet of nature. The noise, the intent, the clarity, all take on a different meaning in the pouring rain.