Real beauty of nature's rain drops

?Oh I personally love these lines by Sudarshan Fakir, a well-known Indian poet and lyricist :

"Ye daulat bhi le lo, ye shohrat bhi le lo,

Bhale chheen lo mujhse meri jawani.

Magar mujhko lauta do bachpan ka saawan,

wo kaagaz ki kashti, wo baarish ka paani."

Translation: Take away my wealth and take away my fame,

You can snatch away my youth from me.

Just return the monsoon of my childhood,

The same paper boat and the very same rains!

These lines instantly remind me of the earthy breezes following the rain showers when our balcony giggled with steaming hot ginger tea. Wow, welcome to happy times! The beauty of rain is that irrespective of the cloud height, it falls with a maximum speed of just 10 m/s. It is all due to buoyancy and interaction of one rain drop with another resulting in the formation of rain drops being formed at much lower heights.

The other beauty of rain is about its impact on human body and the feelings that we get as a result of this interaction. The result is in terms of the intensity of rain. The beauty of rain is enjoyable when it is just drizzling . During drizzling, the diameter of rain drops is less than 0.5 mm and when such drops fall on our body, they produce a sense of great satisfaction and it is enjoyable. It will feeling to remain outside and enjoy as much as possible. The total water falling or intensity is about 1.0 mm/hr.

Once this intensity crosses 2.5 mm/hr, it is moderate and it is the time, when children really enjoy and one feels yes, Earth is being charged and greenery needs water, one feels to be poetic. Again around 7.5 mm /hr, it is heavy and one looks at the sky before moving out and also one has to think of leakages if any in the shelter. At 20 mm /hr, water logging will start and people think of safety etc., the fear starts coming to the mind. At 50 mm/hr and more,its is severe or torrential and the safety of self, family, locality starts creeping in. One looks at the sky just to have a personal estimate on how long this would continue and it is the best time for TV channels to finish their stock of abuses as water logging would open various frauds of cleaning the drainage systems. At this intensity, roads get damaged and landslides are frequent.

The ornamental beauty of a single raindrop drops to beastly beauty of muddy turbulent water flowing as flood water invading places at will. The little room feels much smaller than usual. Like there is something outside pressing against the windows, aching to come in. Maybe it is the noise. It is probably the noise. Tap. Tap. Tap. A thousand, million taps at once. The language of water. And yet, the air inside seems distilled, or about to be so. It is heavy. Hanging, like I wave my hand and feel something heavy.

The wood of the sill behind me is cool and clammy, like the paint would rub off if I pressed too hard. Maybe I should, the frame is peeling anyway, maybe if I put my nail just here, I could pull back a corner, slowly, slowly. Will it peel off all the way to the bottom? It's like pulling off tape or a label stuck to a box. Slowly and carefully, starting with a small tag on the end. No, there it broke. But still, a long piece. The paint is quite damp, even though it is on the inside.

There is moisture caught in the double glazing, trapped there for how many years? It bubbles up in the sun and evaporates in the cold. On days like today it bubbles against the glass and leers longingly as the outside runs with clear streams. Washing away the pollution and grim. Does it really? Or does it just seem to? The view is murky, close range is difficult. With so much movement before my eyes, I have to focus, carefully.

Depth is tricky. I'll focus on the bench just outside. I can barely see the geraniums. They are bobbing up and down under the weight and pressure. Their little heads flop for a second before they are hit and pushed back down. Lightly tapping the ground where small rivers of water run over limestone to bigger rivers and bigger still, until they all become the sea and then they are pushed and shoved only by the moon.

I wrap myself in it, feeling surrounded and safe. Wrapped in sound as vibrant as a drum, wrapped in cold as foreboding as stone. The room is smaller than usual. Colder. I tie cashmere around my throat. It must be the noise. Rhythmic pounding. Can I decipher individual taps? Like voices in the chorus? I think I heard on there, but perhaps not. Never mind, the chorus is better. I love rains and the earthly scents (Petrichor). Rains are beautiful, one of the best seasons out of the four to me. Since I'm a cleanliness freak they symbolize cleanliness for me (just kidding).

Think of it how wonderful rains are- Firstly, It's the season where tree's get to take a shower, all that matted dust on the leaves gets washed off to reveal their vibrant green color. The pollutants/dust circulating in the air settles down and is washed off into the drains to help us breathe fresh air. Taking a deep breathe is possible only during the rains in metro cities in recent times. I enjoy the sounds of rain water gushing through the drains on streets, the water dropping on the plastic roof it’s a pleasant music in itself.The continuous frogs croaking is little annoying though.

An enjoyable or pleasurable thing to do is watch the little birds and animals like squirrels, cats, crows, mynas, pigeons, parrots (*thinking hard to remember what other creatures in-habitat my neighbourhood*) occupy the window slab's and branches to protect themselves from rain and some of them meditating on the electric poles in rain. I don't own a DSLR so I try clicking pictures of rain with my 5MP camera and rains are best in my lavish green neighbourhood. Last but not the least, of course not the least, fried snacks like onion Bhajiya or fritters with a hot ginger tea just makes the best rainy day. The language of water. Today, a song. Cheers!