A Rainy Day!

I have walked out in rain
- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
--Robert Frost

It was raining since morning and the lane that joins our housing complex to the rest of the civilization now looked like a river. The vinyl record was playing Sawan gagane ghor ghanghata from Bhanushingher Podaboli and I had already made seven glossy paper boats made from the pages of Anandalok which I had managed to sneak out from Thamma’s room (my grandma was obsessed with the Bengali film magazine and instead of fairytales I grew up on Tollywood gossips). I was feeling increasingly restless.
Suddenly, it came! The signal! There was a nudge on the thread that was the cynosure of my attention for so long. I ran to the matchbox attached to it and put it close to my mouth: ‘Hello! I station zebra?’ Then I pressed the box to my ear: “I station zebra” came the answer. That was our code for the day. (Well I came to know much later that the name of the book was Ice Station Zebra and I was absolutely heartbroken to know that it had nothing to do with Zebras...adult world was rather difficult to fathom then ) The matchbox on my window was attached to a thread and on the other end of the thread was another box which was stuck to the window of my friend’s house who lived in the building just opposite to ours-this was our very own ‘telephone’ and it was strictly for confidential conversations and hence password protected (although mostly it consisted repeating the words the first person asks). And on days like these when we were not allowed to play outside or go to each other’s house, this ‘telephone’ became our sole source of communication. So, finally it was time! I rushed downstairs with my paper boats.
The last two steps of the staircase were under water. I sat on the third and started floating the boats. We watched dazed as each crossed the bend of the lane and disappeared -one, two, three...seven! I could see another row of boats emerging from the other side as well. It was such a pretty site! I prayed with all my heart ( God was an old man with white beard and an eerie similarity to Santa back then) that it would remain waterlogged till the boats reach the ’faraway land’ and none would encounter any man-hole in the course of their journey. I loved going to school on such days! That gave me an opportunity to get up close and personal with the mud, puddle and the absolutely gorgeous murky water.
I never liked raincoats until I was brainwashed to believe that even Sherlok Holmes wear raincoats and he wears it all the time (of course it was easy to bluff a 6-yr-old and trench coats did look a lot like my Daisy Duck print plastic raincoat.) So, there we were, me, my school bag, inside my Sherlock Holmes raincoat; and my shoes and socks in a plastic bag- all set for the expedition! As I hopped skipped jumped my journey to the bus stand, I would at times imagine myself to be a pirate braving the turbulent ocean and at times I would be a princess in distress but I loved myself as ‘FreeWhilly’ the most.
We never had an official Rainy Day in our school. But, I loved everything as long as it rained (I could survive even the scary maths classes on days like these!) and my mind could wander along the wet wooden staircase that smelled like hot chocolate fudge and run wild in the lush velvety green playgrounds or would just watch the wind caress the raindrop-laden trees after a fresh spell. The school wore a resplendent glow after the rain and the faint music from the grand piano in the chapel would turn it into one of those enchanting fairytale castles (I only hoped they could do away with the ‘studies’ part)
At a certain point I lost track of the winding stairs, the Gulmohars, the European buildings and the report cards with always came with ‘very talkative’ on the remarks column. I changed schools and when I was in class 6 I landed in one which was almost an integral part of our family tradition. Most of the teachers were the same who taught my ma and two aunts and hence kept a hawk’s-eye on me. It was a school where my classmates are still learning the basics of English at class 6 as I fumbled with learning the basic terms of all the subjects in Bengali (and stop using English words in my conversations), the library didn’t have one single book of Nancy Drew, and all girls were supposed to be good at singing and sewing (I abhorred both).
I was a total ‘misfit’ living in a petri dish under a powerful microscope. But, the monsoon would have its magic on such a dull, claustrophobic place as well! The gloomy-looking Corinthian pillars as well as the teachers would suddenly all look cheerful and it would seem as if I can hide myself under the blanket of rain and escape the gazes that had become an integral part of being the ‘fat girl who shows off her English’ experience.
But, what I liked most about a rainy day was the fact that on days when few students managed to turn up, the school would arrange for Kichhuri and Aloo Bhaja for us all! The school still followed the age-old custom of providing lunch to the students (and the fee for that was Rs 10/ month) and it varied from luchi torkari to muri alur chop to plain muri. But, on special days like these, some of us would brave the torrential rain and wade through knee-deep water just for this scrumptious platter--Kichhuri and Aloo bhaja never tasted that good before or after that!

But, it was in college that I fell truly, deeply, madly in love with the rain. The heady mix of the smell of old books and chipped plaster along with the petrichor, wet rings of smoke, and rain-flavoured tea from mati’r bhaar –even the die-hard love-atheist would have found it hard to resist the charm of College Street during the rains! After that there was no looking back! I fell in love with my city all over again. Each nook and corner, each street of this old city had its own story and rain adds poetry to each. And nothing gets you closer to the soul of a street than getting drenched walking through it under a sky cracking up with thunders!
Today, sitting at a coffee shop in Park Street watching the blue neon rain lash the night and tail lights of speeding cars leaving trails of liquid light on the rain-smudged streets, hearing the cacophony of mundane life melt into white noise, and munching on half-forgotten memories I suddenly felt empty inside--a sense of loss gripped me as I mourned lost paper boats that never made it to the faraway land, ghoti-goromwala who emerged only when it rained, dark afternoons spent with thamma listening to weird stories, sound of wet school shoes, singing in the rain with friends, listening to ma recite poetry (which she will forget halfway), convincing friends that there is actually nothing more fun than wading the waterlogged streets, scribbling songs to each other as the professor went on with his lecture and the sound of rain drowned his monotonous voice, bunking classes and getting back absolutely drenched, crazy long-drives amid torrential rain, standing in the middle of the street with arms stretched and feel each drop of rain fall on my skin and seep into my soul, and I mourned the friends and lovers who had disappeared on one such rainy day. Just then waiter arrived with a steaming cup of coffee and I discerned a Cumulonimbus in my cappuccino! I gulped it down. My heart needs some rain tonight.