It had been an exceptionally exhausting day. It seemed that everything in the world needed her immediate attention. She stepped out of her office into the pouring rain, her gloom exceeding the darkest shade of grey of the sky. On other occasions, she might have enjoyed her short walk back home, as she used to do when Arun was around. ‘It is amazing how the mind plays tricks. The same weather which used to seem refreshing and exciting seems so cold and ruthless today’, she thought. As she braved the downpour, the events of the day buzzed in her head creating a storm of sorts. Her company was downsizing, her ailing mother-in-law called in persistently to know about the whereabouts of her son, her parents were constantly calling her to tell her about this man who was ready to meet her and see if they could spend their lives together even as she was still collecting the pieces of her shattered life, her best friend was having relationship troubles, her boss needed all the reports at the same time, the house rent for the month was pending, and all through this, she was expected to keep a straight face, be strong and go through with life as if nothing had happened. In the rain, she could see Arun’s dead body being brought from the site of the bomb blast. A shiver ran through her body as Arun’s smiling face appeared right in front of her and then suddenly disappeared giving way to the chaotic noises which buzzed through her head. As she peered through the sheet of rain, she could see a monster rising in front of her, telling her to give up, to listen to her parents, to stop fighting against life. Her miseries seemed to engulf her from all sides and she felt as if she was walking on a path which led nowhere. Why did Arun have to die? They had been married only two years, and those were the best two years of her life. Whom she should blame for her loss, she did not know. Why was it so difficult for a single woman to live an independent life? Why didn’t every one mind their business and let her be?
By the time she reached home, she was drained. The rain had died down to a slight drizzle. She made herself a steaming cup of coffee, settled into Arun’s favourite arm chair by the window and looked out. The cool damp wind hit against her cheek and her hair captured the tiny droplets of water that strayed in with the wind. She became aware of the nostalgia-evoking smell of wet mud. On the street, rain water had collected in puddles here and there and infrequent passers-by carefully jumped over them. Birds chirped excitedly as they flew against the clearing evening sky. Four-five little rag pickers dashed out of the dilapidated shed across the street with paper boats to sail in the puddles. They shivered as the wind blew through the holes in their clothes which they wrapped tighter around their bodies. Rain water dripped from their entangled hair and meagre clothes. Their faces shone with glee, their eyes sparkled in delight as they sang incoherent merry songs, laughed and fought over whose boat was the best, all at the same time. The friendly street dog followed them out of the shed, surveyed the whole scene with approval and directed his curiosity at the activities of the kids.
A small smile inadvertently played on her lips. Life crept into the listless stone eyes that had been mocking the world for almost six months now. The diffused evening sunlight hit her face as colour returned to it. In the small insignificant part of the world, which she called her home, everything was rain-washed.
