As far as I remember, I wrote this poem on 19th of June. My sincere apologies for the delay in posting the poem.
I still remember how my mother grumbled about the rain-less weather and the asphyxiating humid conditions of Kolkata on that day. Wondering their plight, I started browsing facebook and my eyes fell on an award winning photograph shared by my friend. It was that of a lion meditating in the rain. Instantly, it reminded me of the virile Royal- Bengal Tiger that we saw from the watch tower of Netidopani during our Sundarban trip. It didn't end there. It was followed by a Kaleidoscopic vision of the plethora of vibrant shades of Bengal during monsoon.
Thanks to my father who fed us with West Bengal and made us see the charm in her diverse beauty. The beauty that beholds the plains, the seas and the mountains.... And being a Bengali I claim all of that to be mine..... all of us to be ours. We represent the macrocosm in our microcosm.
Once you are out of Bengal, you recollect it all, not in truncated bits, but as a whole. I too recalled those moments that way... including the floods of Balurghat where we had to shift to higher floors in order to save ourselves from drowning or floating away. We children, would spend our days making and racing paper boats. It was all a part of my growing up...And all of it has made me... Me. This again merges with the nebulous called us which in a way, inspired me to write this poem....
Memories
of the First Rain
The
tiger meditating in the rain.
Drenching in wisdom from the skies;
Sinking in the earth
As it sprouts to new life.
A spectacle divine!
"Alive! Alive! We are still alive!"
As
the maiden in her green petticoat,
Swings to the plumes of a peacock dance;
While the squirrels and rabbits prance;
And amuse themselves to the tunes
Of the peacock throned lad;
Who meditates on the notes of rain
Awaiting his cattle to come back!
"Lo! Lo! We are still alive!"
Alive
by the blessings of
Our grand- father mountains,
Who roar to the rains
And bring home monsoon.
And for the farmers who farm
And hide in darkness of the caves;
They too meditate and pray .
And know the mysteries of the rain.
Alas! Do we know them?
"Alive! Alive! We are still alive!"
My son has set paper boats on sail;
From the balcony of our apartment.
With the fishes sailing from the ponds
Crabs
and tortoise from the shores
Of his vacation last month.
Will they reach a new found land?
That's not there on the Google map?
His dreams amidst the rain drops say:
"Alive! Alive! We are still alive!"
And guess what, it rained heavily in Kolkata on that day. Maybe, Kolkata is missing me as well, or maybe,Nature Goddess became so impressed with the poem that she blessed Kolkata with rain. This must be sounding bizarre to you, right? However, that is not the end. The peacock in the poem actually came to visit us in the backyard of our house in Hyderabad on the very next day. It was an impossible sight and it took some time for my husband and myself to believe what we were seeing..... But as the great saints say: miracles happen to us in order to re-instill our faith in God and also understand the benevolence of nature.
Alas! this could only be perceived by souls who are in harmony with themselves and with each other. But considering the current circumstances; I wonder; whether our children will ever be able to sense miracles in their lives.
* The pictures have been downloaded from Google Image.
