I'm sitting at my breakfast table. Multiple tabs open in my browser window. Running bioinformatics pipelines isn't the most exciting of jobs. I love the science behind the research but, for the most part, it translates to absolutely boring coding. "Just wait till you get all the results together" my boss pacified me last week. "The real fun starts then." Sure, if you say so.
Until then, mind-numbed is my middle name.
But, today, I have a saving grace. To my left is the window, and through the blinds, I can see rain pouring down the bare branches and trunks. Lightning flashes across my laptop screen now and then, followed by the predictable rumbling. There is an incessant pitter patter on my roof that I hear as a background to the music that's playing on loop. I haven't found a better rainy day music accompaniment than Illayaraja's soothing tunes. "Vaanam enakku oru bodhi maram... Naalum enakkadhu seithi tharum" croones SPB and I am instantly transported to my emotional safe space.
Having grown up in the hills, I remember more gray, rainy days than bright, sunny ones. Rainy days were messy, I accept. On school days, it meant cold, damp underwear from the laundry rack in the car port. It meant damp feet cloaked in a pair of red socks and black faux leather mary janes. It meant possible delays to get to school thanks to land slides on the way. And that could only mean a visit to the Principal's office and a not-so-gentle caning on my calves. It meant lunches eaten inside classrooms, sports hours spent indoors exercising in the assembly hall.. endless dreary list.
But it also meant evenings spent watching rain drops stream down my bedroom windows, with my dad's music tapes playing in the background. Illayaraja. It meant climbing up to the roof and sitting under my "umbrella fort" to watch the world around me in rain. It meant rain walks in the woods with my walkman hidden safely in a waterproof backpack and music filling my senses as I explored familiar trails with a whole new sensation. Illayaraja again. And thanks to my dad's collection, Illayaraja will always be part of my rain memories.
Later, in college, I found a bunch of friends that loved the rain as much as I did. We didn't agree on much else and I spent most days ignoring them or being ignored, but when that rare rain came along, all differences were forgotten. We cycled around campus, sat on wet basket ball courts soaking in the water, downed some specially spiked black coffee with hot maggi... fun days. One of my favorite pictures of myself from college is on one such day. In the picture, I am standing in the middle of the road in a blue salwar, phone against my ear, smiling in to the camera. I love what the rain does to me.
The rain brings out the best in me. Or at least, the part of myself that I like best. I am at my moodiest. Filled with the feels. My "too much woman". I am at my most sensual. Pre-kids, many a weekend plans were cancelled only because I wanted to spend the rainy day in bed. Movies, some mush, a couple of chai breaks.. can the day get any more 'feels'?
I am also at my creative best when it rains. I remember that one rainy afternoon when I pulled out a canvas in a fit of inspiration. I propped it against the window and as the rain pummeled the ground behind the canvas, I painted. With my fingers. I wanted to feel the texture of the paint.. and the coarseness of the canvas. I didn't know what I wanted to paint when I started but the paints filled the canvas pretty fast. As the vague silhouette of a woman took shape in the foreground, I knew this painting was something special. The painting was one of my all time favorite creations. It was also one that I destroyed instantly. It had too much of my heart.
Until then, mind-numbed is my middle name.
But, today, I have a saving grace. To my left is the window, and through the blinds, I can see rain pouring down the bare branches and trunks. Lightning flashes across my laptop screen now and then, followed by the predictable rumbling. There is an incessant pitter patter on my roof that I hear as a background to the music that's playing on loop. I haven't found a better rainy day music accompaniment than Illayaraja's soothing tunes. "Vaanam enakku oru bodhi maram... Naalum enakkadhu seithi tharum" croones SPB and I am instantly transported to my emotional safe space.
Having grown up in the hills, I remember more gray, rainy days than bright, sunny ones. Rainy days were messy, I accept. On school days, it meant cold, damp underwear from the laundry rack in the car port. It meant damp feet cloaked in a pair of red socks and black faux leather mary janes. It meant possible delays to get to school thanks to land slides on the way. And that could only mean a visit to the Principal's office and a not-so-gentle caning on my calves. It meant lunches eaten inside classrooms, sports hours spent indoors exercising in the assembly hall.. endless dreary list.
But it also meant evenings spent watching rain drops stream down my bedroom windows, with my dad's music tapes playing in the background. Illayaraja. It meant climbing up to the roof and sitting under my "umbrella fort" to watch the world around me in rain. It meant rain walks in the woods with my walkman hidden safely in a waterproof backpack and music filling my senses as I explored familiar trails with a whole new sensation. Illayaraja again. And thanks to my dad's collection, Illayaraja will always be part of my rain memories.
Later, in college, I found a bunch of friends that loved the rain as much as I did. We didn't agree on much else and I spent most days ignoring them or being ignored, but when that rare rain came along, all differences were forgotten. We cycled around campus, sat on wet basket ball courts soaking in the water, downed some specially spiked black coffee with hot maggi... fun days. One of my favorite pictures of myself from college is on one such day. In the picture, I am standing in the middle of the road in a blue salwar, phone against my ear, smiling in to the camera. I love what the rain does to me.
The rain brings out the best in me. Or at least, the part of myself that I like best. I am at my moodiest. Filled with the feels. My "too much woman". I am at my most sensual. Pre-kids, many a weekend plans were cancelled only because I wanted to spend the rainy day in bed. Movies, some mush, a couple of chai breaks.. can the day get any more 'feels'?
I am also at my creative best when it rains. I remember that one rainy afternoon when I pulled out a canvas in a fit of inspiration. I propped it against the window and as the rain pummeled the ground behind the canvas, I painted. With my fingers. I wanted to feel the texture of the paint.. and the coarseness of the canvas. I didn't know what I wanted to paint when I started but the paints filled the canvas pretty fast. As the vague silhouette of a woman took shape in the foreground, I knew this painting was something special. The painting was one of my all time favorite creations. It was also one that I destroyed instantly. It had too much of my heart.