Pluviophile

The sky looks like a mirror. Perfect, fluid, still. I imagine a rock thrown against that perfect façade, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Maybe a ticked off god will peer out, with a frown that would easily demote my neighbour’s face to second place each time a future Virat Kohli smashes a window pane.

I look up and I see it. Looming far away with a menacing air of purpose. It’s headed this way for sure. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. The pluviophile in me gets her rain boots out.

It takes an entire day to get here. In the meantime I doze through three classes, finish lunch and spend the afternoon Googling random things of little importance. All the while my ear out for those soft footfalls. The pitter-patter that announces its arrival.

Finally I’m done with classes for the day. I throw a disapproving look at the sky. “Cheater,” I mutter under my breath and I’m answered by a strong gust of wind that messes up my already messed up hair. I tell myself to calm down. It’s not going to happen anytime soon, I think glumly.

As I walk down the building, the air gets humid. I’m soaked with sweat by the time I reach the ground floor. Pulling my hair back into an even messier bun I walk out the building. People are laughing and planning the long weekend ahead. “Come on already,” I beg silently. “I’m not asking for much,” I pout. And then it happens.

A bright streak in a myriad of purple, gold and blue flash across the sky. Then a loud clap follows as if to catch the attention of anyone who missed the previous attempt at catching eyes. Well to be honest, it certainly worked. People stopped, gazed at the sky and ran for cover. The smarter ones dug into their bags. The security guard blew his whistle. The teachers ran indoors in fear for their sarees. The sleeping dog moved to a tree and continued with its life’s vocation. And in the midst of all this activity I stood, my grin growing wider by the second. Awaiting that glorious event which would be the perfect setting for a first kiss, a dramatic break-up, a violent fight or a cheesy Bollywood dance number.

And my patience is soon rewarded. The familiar scent of wet earth and mud reach me. Another gust of wind hits me.

A drop of rain falls neatly on my nose.