A Bottle Full

After days of dry monsoons

the clouds finally decided

to emerge out of their patience.

Giant droplets had

begun to paint the dry earth

of the courtyard in fragrant patches.

Everything was getting washed,

looking all new; thirsty nature

was seeping into a cool sigh of relief.

The tin canopy of the verandah

rattled with a staccato drumming,

water streaming down its folds

in dancing parallel lines, framed

by the old wooden doorway

swaying this way and that

with the breeze through the trees

to the tune of the tin roof with

the flash and boom of the thunder.

The rich aroma of ginger-pepper tea

brewing in the next door’s kitchen,

unhesitantly fusing with the petrichor

made me waft back through the years.

Those old, unhurried Hindi film songs

on the radio, with my mother

humming along as she cooked.

Just then, the neighbours’ kid,

must’ve been five or six;

wobbled out barefeet into the rain,

a rainbow umbrella in one little hand

and clutching something else

in the other with great care.

It was a little glass bottle.

With much concentration,

she undid the cork and kept the bottle

on the driveway tile, under the rain.

With the best patience a toddler can muster,

squatting down next to her precious glassware,

waiting for the rain to fill it up, she looked like

a bright bobbing flower in the grey twilight,

a little pause of innocent colours

as one tired season ushered in the new one.

The bottle now full, focusing gingerly, with

her little tongue out, she put the cork back in

And ran back inside, shouting with excitement-

        ‘Maa!’

I heard a faint sneeze and sniffle in reply.

And then in the most joyous of voices I hear-

        “See, I got you a bottle full of your favourite rain!”