Clarity

I woke up to sheets of rain.

Silver Grey sheets of rain. Hazy Frost worthy weather.

Then I rolled of the bed in a movement perfected over several thousand mornings – an action that carries just the right blend of frustration and purpose.

I tiptoed into the kitchen through semi darkness – more afraid to awaken my inner demons than anyone else.

Poured a tall glass of water.

Water outside. Water Inside. Water. Water. Everywhere.

In the 40 minutes it took for me – from the time I hit stop on the alarm to the time I stepped out of the door – I am sure History was being written in many parts of the world.

Not here. Not today. Not for me. Not that I know.

The streets were quiet – almost an anomaly from their everyday hustle bustle. They reflected neon from street lights that weren’t programmed to make the distinction between day and night on the basis of time alone… like me.

And as I hastened my pace – to step out of the way of a wary bus – I realized that somewhere on my way to this day, this place, I had grown afraid of puddles.

Puddles. As far as I could see. And in my meager attempts to avoid them – my frustration.

When and How did this happen?

Is this what they call growing up?

How do I make it stop?

There was a time – when I would have stared at a puddle in wonder – excitedly grinned at the rainbow like colors inside it created by orphaned oil drops and on days when I was truly happy – I’d have even splashed right inside it.

Not here. Not today.

Today – I’m worried about spending an entire day in wet footwear at work. Afraid of walking into a 9 am meeting in a rain streaked shirt and if my umbrella would give away and soak my laptop silly – then the world will surely end for me. Wont it?

As I got out of the bus and braved another torrential Mumbai downpour – my shoes started squeaking from the combination of concrete and rain.

This would have been a definite source of unanticipated joy for me at a point in my life.

I would have made them squeak some more. In Octaves. Just for the heck of it.

Certainly would not have experienced the sense of annoyance and embarrassment they inspired so naturally today.

I think this is what is called Dying – slowly - one day at a time. When everyday every year in residue strips you of something that provides you a basic form of happiness.

Like a friendly puddle.

It was at that point that the year turned for me.

At 8.52 am, on 14^th of July 2009, in the monsoon of the 30^th year of my life on earth.

I wasn’t afraid anymore.

And I just stood there. In the middle of a puddle. With cascades of water all around me. Smiling. Smiling silly.

Clarity. It’s not easy – just worth it.