Ponderings Anyone??

It rainedyesterday. At around 3 in the night. Was alseep but woke up. Surprising, its not everytime that once gone to theland of dreams, do I wake up. But it was the smell of the wet mud. Sounds cliched, wet mud, streaks of water, tapping of the drops on the window shade,
but romantic it is. And nostalgic.

Was sitting there till it was early morning. On the window sill. Leaning out, just. Only the feet and outstretched hands would get wet. There were drops which would fall on the grills and then bounce back on my face. Just a slight nip in the air, not uncomfortable but not cozy either. Something about it and my state of mind. Thinking, feeling, contemplating, nostalgic. It wasnt the desolate feeling that creeps in when alone, it wasnt the lonely feeling, the heavy feeling that settles around the heart, it was the hopeful kinds. It was the realisation that everything is beautiful and lovely, amazing and full of wonder, never ending and forever etched somewhere. Albeit in my memory.

The sky was reddish purple, there were crows sitting under the cover of the palm trees in the compound. Reminded me of my childhood. Took me back to me in class 3. Monsoons, june july. We would play antakshari and pappa would sing. Tell us ghost stories which would freak me out. And shubhra would make silly noises. It was when I understood the truth about fear both palpable and unconscious. And about Manna Dey and shama songeet and nazrool giti. We would be laughing when Maa would sing. And try sing in tune with pappa;s baritone.

There would be no electricity inthe nights. Wasnt needed too. There was breeze, the curious air that blows when it rains. We used to sit on the window sill. Me n my sister. And giggle and flail our limbs, hands outstretched palms cupped. Competing who would gather the most drops. Me used to cheat. I used to hold da palm under the shade where water would gather. And then splash it on her. And then we would start fighting. Because she would cry saying the water is dirty. Lol, was true *smiles*
All this in candle light, inverters as a concept hadnt arrived at my humble village. There was something about doing stuff in candle light i think, which gives my memories a surreal tint. I remember golden glow and cold air. We couldnt do our homework because there was no electricity. Pappa wouldnt let us. So we would do whole lot of other stuff. All sitting on the window sill.

Our neighbour, Mary Aunty would buy bread, no, not bread, its called paav. And the paav wala would come every evening. Sell Paav and eggs. And his arrival would be marked by the ringing of his cycle bell. Around 8ish. One nite it was raining heavy. And we were as usual getting bored with just the water works. No pun. We rang our cycle bell, twice, just the way the Paav wala would do. And as expected, Mary Aunty called out..."paav wala, ek dozen paav dena". I remember giggling so hard and for so long, couldnt seem to stop. Seemed like we would die laughing. But couldnt laugh loud, because like us Mary Aunty would also sit by the window. *smiles* How would the paav wala come? It was raining so heavy that night.

Make paper boats, throw them down. Competition was to see whose paper boat would remain upright. Mine never did. Was always sad at origami. Again I would cheat. Tie a thread to the sail of my boat and thow it down. Shubhra is smart if nothing else, and learns quick. She would throw pebbles in my boat. making it sink. And again we would fight.
Making craft with the melted candle wax. Drop melted wax in water and it hardens immediately. We would buy coloured candles for that. And then stick those frozen pallets on paper. Make apples, birds and then stick it up on the dart board.
And then skools would be shut due to heavy rains. Cooped up at home the whole day, we would give missed calls to our neighbours sleeping in the noon. Climb trees and play ghar ghar during summers. Gang up wid kids from other buildings and play cricket. I would never want to field. Always bat. And thats why they would never let me bat first. Coz of obvious reasons. I wouldnt field after i was out.

Life can never get back to that can it? Everything was NOT perfect. But then there was something so pure almost pious about the times then. And now...sitting again at the window sill. Almost 12 years later. Nothings changed, everythings changed...

The only difference is, then I was making memories... now I cherish them...