A Rain drenched Reunion.

Dear  Readers,

I'm waiting for an old friend. I've been waiting for a while. It seems that this comrade of mine doesn't reciprocate the fierce eagerness that I have to meet him. I don't remember his face too clearly.Like the radiant full moon disappearing behind enigmatic night clouds, my pal's face had faded from my memories. I think everyone's mind has an attic. Memories,like fresh,glistening photographs, Polaroids and films, flutter and settle in the attic ,until they turn into the sweet colour of sepia. Sometimes they float down clumsily from the lofty tops of sepia skyscrapers;like dried scarlet leaves from stiff autumn trees,making me fly into a furious,but silent and pleasant fit of nostalgia. I've compiled the most precious items from my 'attic' into this infinite book of  intangible pages.  Clouds whiz by me,reminding me that I was several thousand feet in the air,in a frugal,aquiline airplane. We duck and swerve below the cottony floor of heaven and descend gracefully.

As the clouds part,like velvet curtains revealing a precious exhibit, a vast expanse of green greets me from below. I see all the shades and tints of green known to man:olive,leaf,sage,lime and so on.The trees only gave way to the snaking rivers. A few buildings poked through the canopy and reached out for air.

O Kerala ,old friend,we cross paths again. It,s time for us to talk once more. It's time for us to banter about the good old days,under the frolicking shade of aged,wise coconut trees.

A shudder,a shake. The mammoth wheels spit oil,wing flaps valiantly to fight the wind and slowly,we grind to a halt.

The same old roads greet me. The buildings,temples,churches and mosques.Their bronze tips glint in the last of the sunlight. Clouds cloaked in grey and blue were slowly creeping up in front of the searing,scintillating star.
                                                   

The soil crumbled as I stepped out. I'm reminded of yet another dear friend. I would describe her as  languid and unpredictable. Her laughter makes the earth rumble and rejoice. When she prances by,flowers bloom and birds sing symphonies.This lazy friend of mine fills people with a spirit of spritefullness. Her dark grey dress,embroidered with stunning lilac and silver, flows with grandeur,flutters with the wind and fades into the horizon. I haven't seen her in a year.

Now,sitting on the verandah,as a mild breeze briefly brushes by,I long for her presence. The breeze gains strength and ruffles up my unkempt hair even more. Suddenly,I hear a familiar sound. The sound of thundering laughter. The flow of a puffy dark grey dress.The sinister looking sky lights up. A terrific bright blaze gave every rumbling,raging cloud it's own brilliant lilac-silver lining. 

And there she was. Gallantly descending from her turbulent throne of thunder up above in the once azure sky. Monsoon's touch sent a pleasant chill down my spine. Raindrops raced down,splattered and rose up in unison.Gentle taps built up towards a never ending crescendo.My spirit danced to her tunes. 
Lizards scurried helter-skelter. Pigeons holed up in recesses,feet tucked away and eyes drooping. Drenched flowers curled up  as they tickled pink and purple.  Dragonflies disappeared under luscious leaves,pausing their aimless hovering. Dainty butterflies quickly finished their feast and flew clumsily,intoxicated with the sweetness of nectar and rain.

Morning walks by the damp,wind swept, paddy fields can truly take one to paradise and back. The night's rain had worked like magic to beautify the vast carpet of brilliant green that extended beyond where my eyes could see. The wise old coconut trees and palmyras are omnipresent. Here,they line the edges of the field,watching sternly over the frivolous blades of paddy. The dew and raindrops clung on to the golden yellow paddy,struggling to perch on as the chilly morning wind combed through the field. The rain drenched sun shone and enveloped the morning in bronze and golden rays which scattered through the mint fresh dew drops and illuminated the crops with an unearthly glow. Among all this wonderment stood a quaint,lone hut,embarrassed at it's own simplicity,unaware of it's unique charm.

As monsoon washed the dust away from my attic of memories,I  felt the urge to add more 'photographs' to the topsy turvy tower. I decided to take a stroll down the beach.

This trip seems more like a reunion. I was being reunited with some of my loyal,but elusive and mysterious friends

Three hours past noon. Car tyres grind gravel. A sudden change of terrain. Now the vehicle crept silently on sand. I get a glimpse of the sea,which,in the pale gold aura of the afternoon sun, seemed like it was encrusted with the jewels of Poseidon. I left the air conditioned enclosure and stepped into the wild spirited sea breeze. My feet sink into the sand and tiny,round golden soldiers claim my toe. I walk past dark silhouettes ,towards the churning water. The sea sulked under the sultry sun. Like a mystical mirror,the fierce afternoon sky reflected in the briny vat below.The eastern wind,like a dedicated cook,churned and stirred the seas continually.

Like a thousand raucous,screaming diamond warriors,the turquoise tinted water rushed to grab my feet. My foot seems to be in great demand here.
The life of a wave is accompanied by wonderfully changing hues.When the wave takes birth at the heart of the ocean,it is coloured deep with Prussian blue,symbolising the royal and untamable energy that it possesses. As it leaps magnificently towards the edges of the sea,it tires and turns turquoise. When it finally sees the shore, the colour drains ,leaving an austere shade of alabaster silver,which finally explodes into milky white bubbles.I walked slowly along the precariously arranged jet black rocks on which tiny snails turned and toiled,moving as slowly like the clouds that crawled across the horizon,which was beginning to blush with a soft pink hue. I watched as the mirthful figures of  jubilant people slowly turned into silhouettes.Some playing volleyball,some making customary  castles on the wet trampled sand and others racing to consume their ice creams before it crept stealthily down the crisp cone. It seems that the typical beach scene is shielded from change. It's almost as if time stops in awe of the thrashing waves and the aquamarine-red horizon. It even turns adults into chirpy children.

As I sit on the rocks,frantically trying to capture all this beauty in the form of macrocosmic photographs,the water droplets are still teaching for my foot ,which is now tired of it's battle against multitude s of microscopic gold and diamond warriors. As I readied myself to leave,I scrawled on the wet sand with my index finger :- "The End". I watched as the frothing waves gobbled up the syllables,leaving only diminishing reminiscences of the letters,scribbled in childish fashion. After hours of  playing unnamed games with the seawater,my hands were cold and my fingers wrinkled.  It's as if anything that comes in contact with the prehistoric ocean was weathered away by it's wisdom,knowledge and stories.   While I was lost in thought, a powerful wave saw the opportunity and nearly toppled me over. Struggling,I managed to maintain my verticality, but the sea stole my sandals.There they went,sailing off to unknown destinations,towards the blazing,majestic sunset,like two Arab dhows without sails. I bid them farewell as they bobbled their way into Davy Jones' locker. As the final dreamy rays of dusk dwindled,I made my way home.