The Rain!

It's raining outside. And it doesn't matter what zip code of what American state my couch is placed at, it's Bombay just outside my window. The way the water collects on the road in small puddles; the way the road light reflects off those puddles; the way the branches of tall trees bow to the supremacy of the weight of the wet tyrant; the way the window captures only a certain frame of the moment - only the puddle, the light, the bowing branch; the rest of the world is of little concern; the way the eye can capture only the splash of the water droplets on the road and not their whole path down; revealing time only moment by moment, splash by splash; its not 8th ST SE Minneapolis, its the road outside Hostel 10, IIT Bombay, Powai, Mumbai. Everything else maybe where ever it is supposed to be but that one frame is wrongly placed in space and time! It belongs to a land far far away and time not so distant in passing but unapproachable in direction, long lost to the land far far away. A frame so far and distant that the heart is tempted to believe it exists only in thought and not is matter. What may appear to the eye to be outside my window, may just be inside my heart. The tender branch of time bends under the burden of memory, like the branch of the tree outside my window bowing to the weight of the rain. The longing is so strong it creates inescapable puddles down memory lane which glisten on a rainy night. Somewhere out there wanders my heart, flipping through life frame by frame, passing though time splash by splash, until the sunlight brings it back inside.