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Racing with the Rain
For most of us, every word, each letter, whatever be the language, comes with a form that is unique. Words like “love”, “aversion” or “friendship” evoke different emotions, feelings and images, all quite separate from one another, never uniform, each belonging unambiguously to the person from whose world it emerged.
For most of us, every word, each letter, whatever be the language, comes with a form that is unique. Words like “love”, “aversion” or “friendship” evoke different emotions, feelings and images, all quite separate from one another, never uniform, each belonging unambiguously to the person from whose world it emerged.
Think, then, of “rain”. For many, the rain, now lashing Kerala and Mumbai in the form of the south-west monsoon, suggests a refreshing happiness, coolness and a sense of wellness. For me personally, the onset of the south-west monsoon is Siva’s samhara tandavam, a dance of destruction, a dance with black fury rendered to the accompaniment of clashing cymbals.
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