Rain

Thoughts Versus Giggles

Samira was walking briskly. Her thoughts followed her where ever she went, in shade and dust, amongst the crowd and throughout the dim alley with matted hoardings. Life in its minute detail, including the folded chit in a jeans pocket, spoke to Samira. Thoughts dappled with plaintive acceptances and mellowed retraces were highlighted.

Everything was perfectly normal when Samira turned in slow motion, her hair flying dramatically, her eyes looking for… Alas! There was nothing filmy to see, except something comic – pigeon droppings dropped on a man’s head. Samira grimaced as if she knew the pigeon or the man.

It started to drizzle. Samira smiled, almost chuckled, why, because she had an umbrella. And then came the moment – heavy, pouring rain made the pedestrians hide in shops, except a bunch of few who had an umbrella. Samira shined with a beautiful pink umbrella.

La la la laa laa, la-la la la laaaa! She was reminded of the grand music score from Chariots of fire.

But all this for a few minutes and she was back in shade and dust, amongst the crowd and on the rough road. She looked at the people around her and wondered about their life, sufferings, dreams and hopes. Gosh! In a puddle, Samira saw her gloomy face and noticed her laces. Now, just like the others, she looked for a corner and sat to tie her laces.

Umbrella on a side, down on her knees, Samira got drenched as a rusty, rickety roof pipe broke brazenly. Pedestrians saw it, ignored it and then saw it again. Sheepishly Samira got up, then acted brave till the road curved to the left. “It is over”, she said.

Samira walked, deep in conversation with herself when a little girl, a beggar, came running towards her and started to walk with her. She thought, now she will ask for some money, now she will beg, now. But the beggar smiled and said, “I just want to go till there”. Samira nodded and looked at her pink umbrella happily. The beggar giggled as her little brother joined them. Samira looked at both of them and saw the two most radiant smiles she had ever seen.

Gladly she walked with them, not thinking anything, quietly and happily. Giggles overpowered her thoughts.

Rain! Rain!

Though I know it is not raining
I hope it did; I am carrying
Colours of life that I wish I could
Mix in me, and then surely I would
Live. Often do people say
‘It was raining on that evil day’
I hope they won’t, because they don’t
Understand rain. They don’t feel rain.
Rainfall is the dancing of clouds and
The song of the Nature. The land
Becomes alive and happy; ‘I’ becomes
‘We’, playing with the paper boats
And all the musicians taking notes
Rain rain, rain-rain.

Hiding From The Rain

Mr. Podolski calls hiding from the rain ignoring.
Image from Pixabay.

Mr. Podolski was sitting in the attic, smoking idly. He continuously ignored the noise that was coming from downstairs. Everyone was watching the game, football. Both the windows in the attic were open.

For a long time, he was gazing at the blue sky which had some white spots here and there.

‘That’s a goal!’, shouted his grandson, gripped in the game. Mr. Podolski gave a grim grin and lit a cigarette afresh.

He failed to ignore the clouds gathering, the blue sky soon less blue. He thought, ‘they are teaming against me, again, like…that day.’

‘That Day’ echoed inside him as the huge church bell echoed in the town. It revived his rage and furry. In spite of his daily practice, he merely feigned calmness.

He stood up from his rocking chair and reached the window limping. He sharply glanced above while the clouds replied with a thunder.

He tried, tried hard, very hard but failed. His mind’s eye presented a slideshow before him.

Green ground, heavy rain, his white dress no more white but muddy, 90 minutes almost over, scoreboard shining 2-1, the crowd going mad, fans screaming ‘P-O-D-O-L-S-K-I-P-O-D-O-L-S-K-I’, the commentator shouted, ‘it’s a penalty…all eyes on Heinz Podolski now!”

His mind de-fossilized the amber which consisted of the words spoken by his coach before the match. He had said, ‘for some people football is a matter of life and death…I can assure you it is much more serious.’

This was exactly what he thought before hitting the penalty and then….   ‘We won!’ said Mr. Podolski’s grandson, shouting at the top of his voice.

Mr. Podolski’s recollection died away. It was raining outside. He shut both the windows and settled back in his chair.

‘Should I tell grandpa?’ exclaimed the grandson, who was extremely excited to think before speaking up. In a few minutes, though, Mr. Podolski got the answer as his grandson didn’t come upstairs.

He sat in the dark attic with the steady smoke all around him. He soaked the thundering sound and the heavy rainfall that gave his face a plastic expression and his eyes some moistness. 


Weekly Newsletter

A weekly dose of stories! Get the posts from the Chiming Stories in your inbox and read it when you can. Subscribe now, it is free!


Recent Posts


Listen and Be Heard

Autumn leaves… waiting only and only for her.
Image from Pixabay.

Tara was walking through the dry track. Her mind was shooting different thoughts at her, she couldn’t catch even a single one. A mundane routine she loathed.

Autumn leaves came to rescue her after a long wait. Tara loved to crush leaves, it made her feel happy, a feeling rushed in her and ended in pleasure every time she saw them resting by the roadside as if waiting only and only for her.  

Life was not at all happening for Tara. The same question mark which troubles all working minds was knocking her crazy. All the ‘what’s and how’s’ were becoming unbearable for her.

A thought to end life was always present in her mind like a geek student in a class, but the courage was missing. Tara hated herself and didn’t know that she was secretly in love with whatever the way she was.  

Tara was on her way home. She was tired, her bag was heavy. Tara sighed and among the jumbled thoughts came a glad one, at least no extra weight of the umbrella.

That part of earth had said ta-ta to the rainy season and presently the autumn season was painting itself. The sun was playing hide and seek with the clouds.

Tara saw the golden rays disappearing and she stopped. The wind whispered to her and she knew.  

She stood there for five minutes or so. With a slight grin, she focused her mind to target the almighty. Great going god, she thought. It was raining by then and Tara was getting wet but she continued walking.

In her mind she started clapping, she was showering criticism on god. ‘Make it snow if you like, so I can regret my simple decision of abandoning my umbrella today’, said Tara. Sigh!  

Tara was sure that god was playing games with her. It wasn’t a new feeling. Another hopeless day was about to end for Tara, which hadn’t brought any change in her life except the point that she would return home completely wet.

But suddenly she was hit by a realization and the sinking feeling sunk…a thought did the magic…a thought that told her that god just reacted to her.

Tara couldn’t understand the game but knew it then that God listens.


Weekly Newsletter

A weekly dose of stories! Get the posts from the Chiming Stories in your inbox and read it when you can. Subscribe now, it is free!


Recent Posts