What is it about the rain that makes you remember?

Our first guest post! This is by a friend of mine (Sam's), the aforementioned Vowel-less. Enjoy yourself with this wonderful piece on the most wonderful things of all-rain and memories.

Also available on her own blog: http://doubt-thou-the-stars-are-fire.blogspot.in/2014/06/what-is-it-about-rain-that-makes-you.html
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I am sitting by the window. It is raining and I can feel the drops of water on my face. As a drop trickles down my face and falls on my hand, memories of a time long forgotten, a childhood, not that far back yet so unreachable, flood my mind. A sudden flashback of running through the front garden and getting drenched in the rain in one of the many old British-style houses that I lived in fills my mind vividly. Then another image, of my mother shouting at me asking me to come back.
What is it about rain that always makes you sift through all those past memories that in the humdrum of daily life become repressed in your subconscious?
Hailstones! The initial excitement of listening to the exaggerated pitter-patter on the roof as tiny lumps of ice fall on the ground. Running to the front verandah to collect the ice faster than my brother. Image after image of those days, long past. Of innocence, long gone. Of hope, long forgotten. Memories.
A song comes to my mind. The song that was playing in the background when I shared an umbrella with my first crush. I can almost feel my heart thundering, the way it had thundered for those few precious stolen moments. Anticipation tugs at my heart. And a certain melancholy. A sudden yearning to go back into those days of sweet innocence, of glorious horizons and endless possibilities, of happy dreams. Falling asleep near my mother. Playing with my brother. Not knowing the feeling of apprehension. Where future is a bright happy place.
What is it about rain that makes you remember?

~Vowel-less

Rain, a cut and a bandaid.

Darkened tar on the roads
Offsets the bright fallen leaves.
The cold wind hurls rain at my face
Through space and sorrow and fluid green trees.
A cut and a conversation are the cherry on top,
And a bandaid and a childhood cure make my joy complete.

(Yes, I have an irrational fascination with small wounds and bandaids.)

~Sam

Just another apology (and a reblog, sort of).

Yeah, we suck, we're sorry. We have no excuse either, except..did you know, if you reach far enough and fast enough, you can actually see the temple being built around you in Temple Run? =O

Anyway, this is a beautiful poem by a beautiful friend of mine that I came across the other day. One of the best I've ever read. Do feel free to comment if you enjoyed it.



Do you know this feeling? 
When you're sitting in your balcony, 
Watching the first rain,
Alone.
(But not alone.
Not really. 
The whole universe is watching this sight with you.) 
And you are the perfect degree of wetness. 
Just enough for the cool wind blowing,
To feel icy-cold,
Not enough to go inside and write a poem.
And the raindrops dance in these intricate patterns,
And you think of surface tension,
(And perhaps, if you're particularly poetic,
You think of the tension between human beings.)
And you see the lightning,
And you think of love and how ruin is so beautiful,
And you think about how fast the clouds are fleeing,
And you know they are going where you are,
Away.
(But they aren't, really.
They have to go north and you are going south,
Because we all of us can go only to the place,
Where we are meant to be.)
And if your new hair cut can't survive this deluge,
You don't really care,
You sit there anyway.
Because you know that feeling,
Of watching the first rain,
On a June evening,
From your balcony,
Alone,
(But not alone)
And the perfect degree of wetness.


~My dear friend Sakhi. 






~Sam