It is the first rain in Delhi this summer.
The rain drops seems a fresh breath on the warm night earth.
Air-conditioners shut.
Windows open.
And I let the breeze play with my hair and eyes.
I stand safely away from the edge of the balcony to keep the rain off myself.
But now and then it comes and flirts with my feet.
I take a step back. It still reaches me.
Touch and go. Wink and miss.
Irritating.
I take a step front to have a more intimate conversation.
It doesn’t touch me then.
Now it’s annoying.
I understand the clouds are grey.
But my mind works black and white.
Binary.
So I take three steps front till I reach the edge of the balcony and firmly place my hand on the balustrade.
I want to speak straight and clear.
I lean out arrogantly pointing my chin at the rain.
It smacks right onto my face and body.
I feel the rain-water take long circuitous routes from my hair, onto my neck and then to my back.
Multiple veins of rain starts running on my forearms.
Desperate and directionless till they find the fingertips from where they make the suicidal drop.
The wind plants a leaf on my leg and I don’t bother shaking it off.
I let it rest and cling onto my skin.
It must have endured the rain for quite a while.
I stretch out my hands to receive some more of the drench in my palms.
It fills it with abundance.
I close my eyes.
I get completely wet in no time.
It was that simple.
Few steps.
Binary.