Dreamless In Delhi

Guess what? It rained today morning! Early morning. Seven-ish. That, by my standards is very, very early. What I am glad for is the fact that last night was not just dreamless, but sleepless. For that, I thank the heavens, or whoever, whatever power, if any, controls my thoughts, emotions and actions. It is not in an era now that I have woken up to greet the subtle hues of morning. I always wake up to loudness of sun in the afternoon. With respect to me, a fact which has firmly been established is that if I am to witness the cracking of dawn, right at the edge of horizon, I can only do it by keeping up all night. Not in my wildest thoughts can I wake up that early, never even for the fear of God can I wake up without looking and feeling like a zombie.

(Playing in the background...Pyar hua ikrar hua hai, pyar se phir kyun darta hai dil....)

I love such unexpected rains, however brief their tryst with us mortals waiting for them with parched hearts, especially in the merciless heat of rising summer. Rainy season depresses me; it dampens my spirits by not allowing that persistent cloud of  gray to subside and give way for some vibrancy to re-enter the world. My inspirations become subdued, my thoughts overshadow all my need to talk and act, and I wait rather impatiently for the picturesque autumn flavor to arrive. Rains in summers are, aah, just that, rains in summer. Respite. Rejuvenation. Bliss. Beauty. And what I enjoy about them most? What they leave after their sojourn. A cool, subtle, but firm breeze. The kind which is blowing in from my balcony to caress my cheeks right now. It reminds me of the first careful, yet eager kiss planted at the same place by someone. And who also led my heart to race, with palpitation loud enough to compete with thunder in terms of decibels.

The breeze-it makes my thoughts perch on its invisible stream and fly towards the most majestic memories.

(Song changed. The background is now serenaded by Ae ri pawan, dhoondhe kise tera man, chalte chalte)

There are days in life, when you would be too quick to conjecture that chaos is the order in the world. Mess prevails. Yet, in some short lived, rare and magical moments, which are very prone to being missed unless you are highly perceptive and sensitive, Providence does fit in beautifully elements of our surrounding to form a neat, breathtaking, mesmerizing picture. The random brush strokes cluster together to conjure the image of the most pretty floral garden you have ever seen. For me, right now, the elements which combine to bestow the same grandeur are-
Perfectly matched, moss-rich melody from the erstwhile times in the background.
Finish line of work coinciding with starting line of rains.
Just enough rain to uplift and not dampen.
Chirpiness of birds setting out on another day of flying to distant corners.
Memories of friends.
Lingering touch of love.
Space in mind.
A hot cup of lemon tea.
Hint of dizziness to add the glamour.

All this together, and a hopeless romantic like me feels weak in her knees. I could romanticize any and everything today. As it has happened, the sun has started peeking from behind the clouds. Slowly, it is marking its presence his kingdom which had momentarily been taken over by luscious clouds. For once, I do not dread its arrival, for when it will be on ascent, I shall be peacefully dreaming away of love, and castles, and flowers and melodies. I do however, feel happy for this little rendezvous with the very source of vitality on earth, the Sun, whose percolating rays are dancing on my arm as I type away on the keyboard. A happy heart is all I've got to greet everything with. I think that is a good thing.

So, Dreamless In Delhi? So far, yes. But with these lines echoing in my mind, I would not be for long.

 Ek akeli tu, meri saheli tu,

Jiska koi saathi naahi, uska kya jeevan?

I wish I could also talk to the breeze like in these lines and ask questions of unfulfilled love and share memories of titillating romance. But, I still have my dreams to visit.

This post is for all those who missed the magic of rains today morning. For all those also who met the rains, but missed the magic still. I will end by recollecting lines from a recent friend to lend definition to my hopeless romanticism.

Woh bade tajassus se poochh baithe mere gham ki wajah

Maine halki se muskurahat di aur kaha, muhabbat ki thi.

And finally, no one does justice to rains better than the brush of Leonid Afremov. Here is another gem from him, titled

Scent Of Rain