It was a hot afternoon after a day of solid heavy rain. Rain which had drenched them and seemed not to have finished with them, but only to have taken itself off somewhere to return soon, replenished, with a new strength.
As clichéd as it may sound, for me rain is the quintessence of romance. Looking back, I think it was Ruskin Bond who unknowingly showed me the magic in the sound of rain beating against a corrugated tin roof. Since then, I have gaped at tiny droplets racing to the aching earth and greeting objects in different tunes every time. I have sung heavenwards as my throat was sweetened by them and I have danced with abandon as they soaked my soul. Poetry has often been for me making a single moment speak. It has been for me looking at a still photograph and then opening up the clenched fists and the closed eye lids. It has been extracting the song out of the smile and the smile out of the curved lips. It has been stretching the single moment of the woman’s throbbing for her lover into a heartbreaking ballad. And so one day when I was standing in front of our home, watching rain drops shining in the light of a street lamp, two lovers caught my eye and in that one moment as they passed before me drenching in the rain together, I could see numerous stories unfold. When I started writing these stories in the form of a poem, I realized the only common element in all those stories – they were all narrated by rain.Bio: Astha Gupta was born in Delhi and is currently based in Bangalore, India. She watches a cultural mela get soaked in rain everyday as she weaves imaginary worlds on her ancient laptop. Her inspirations come from everyone, everywhere and everything. Her other interests are reading, acting, photography and filmmaking.