Its July, the monsoon has set in. The window panes are wet with rain, the citites are looking different and the villages seem to be taken over by nature turning every barren pasture with water or green.
Rain and romanticism go hand in hand. The cloudy sky hiding the sun and the constant water drops coming down, the rainy season is a concoction of sadness, loss, hope and love.
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| the window pane |
Its been raining cats and dogs for the past few days here in Bengal. I am at Mohanpur, a small town near Kalyani. At nature's lap the flora and fauna is at full swing in this suburban village. The frogs and crickets are singing all night long with hope and aspiration that they will find a mate. There's no doubt in their belief and the merriment and hope of their hearts is filled in the jungle behind my lodge.
Why can't we be like them? Why do we doubt ourselves? Well, take a leaf out of their book and believe in the goodness that is in this world and in ourselves.
Rain brings forth hope of better times and fills the earth with abundance.
The dreary weather brings back old memories. As Henry Longfellow has written:
"Be still sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds the sun is still shining;
Thy fate is the fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary."
As I sit near in my room with the rain falling down through the leaves and hitting the grass creating the music of life I remind myself that there is hope. As the rain paints a new portrait of the earth removing the withered and dry land, we should also keep our disappointments and pain in the background and move ahead and start afresh like the sprouts of grass and plants starting to emerge from the earth awakened by the rain.
As I sit near in my room with the rain falling down through the leaves and hitting the grass creating the music of life I remind myself that there is hope. As the rain paints a new portrait of the earth removing the withered and dry land, we should also keep our disappointments and pain in the background and move ahead and start afresh like the sprouts of grass and plants starting to emerge from the earth awakened by the rain.
As Walt Whitman had so beautifully said:
"And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower,
Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,
Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,
Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd, altogether changed, and
yet the same,
I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe,
And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;
And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin,
and make pure and beautify it;"
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| The hope of a new beginning |
Dedicated to Paulo Coelho
