It came. Like the soothing palm of mom when I was a child, it came to take away my worries. For the last couple of months, I have been restless, trying to find out answers to questions I never thought existed. Too many things were changing suddenly and too fast. Mumbai was draining my life blood. My sleep had averaged to about 5 hours and that too disturbed by worrisome, listless, meaningless thoughts.
For the first time in life I had nothing to dream about.
The world around me was changing and yet nothing changed. The only thing that kept me going was my work. I still loved it, it still gave me the challenges to look forward to on a Monday morning and I realized that like most working professionals I was becoming prone to having points of view. All my working life (sounds grand, doesn’t it?) I have maintained that there are multiple points of view and all of them must originate from the consumer. It was effortless in the beginning but today the lessons learnt from nearly two years are showing up as “I believe”.
The thing I kept telling myself, unless you are the TG, what you believe matters nothing in the end. You can just be a humble servant of the consumer and support her point of view and appreciate that she has the right to change any moment. You take a stand for her, not for anyone or anything else.
I know I am not making sense, but life wasn’t making sense either.
The soul was parched, thirsty for some succour. And then like many wasted memories of the past, I found myself in a hot and dry
The flight took me to
The work I had was done around 10 in the night. I was travelling back to the city and then it came. First a few big drops and then the torrents. The earth protested and squirmed as if some uncalled for lover had touched her. She made her displeasure clear. The asphalted roads, like snakes on her body protested loudly. But the first rains had come and like an unstoppable emotion it swept the city off its feet. Lights began to go out in localities, I reached my guest house in complete darkness and it rained. The earth quenched her thirst, remembering once again what it meant to be loved.
Bent by worries that exist only in the mind I fell on my bed and slept like a child. Outside I could hear the pitter-patter of the rain drops. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter it went on like one of those Enid Blyton novels where children get excited by a Bacon and Eggs breakfast. The rains had come to tell me that life was beautiful and there was someone to take care of me. A song from “The Prince of Egypt” kept playing in my mind. I could not recollect the words but the tunes sent me to sleep.
The first drops had fallen. Soon, one day the monsoon would arrive. People would curse the rains as it would make traffic on the Mumbai streets unbearable. But I would not complain. I would sing, “Raindrops keep falling on my head”.
I slept, like I had not slept for ages and when I woke up to a brand new day, the heart sang out for the first time in ages. The soul was soothed. The Greater Power above had saved it once again.
And even though I can’t sing to save my life, “Singing in the rain, I’m singing in the rain. What a glorious day and I’m happy again.”