With a few droplets on my palm

Sitting by a window-side,
Cool breeze rustling across my face.
I think of the bygone days.
With a few droplets on my palm,
With a few droplets on my cheek
I watch the rain flood the street.

A thread flew out of the window
and settled on a tree
It will never be dissolved in the wind,
Just like my memories which will never wither way

pure…white…serene…the memories will always stand out.

With a few droplets on my palm,
With a few droplets on my cheek
I watch the rain flood the street.

I had watched the rain flood the street,
It was a “rainy day” for school.
I remember how my sister made a study table out of bedding
I remember how we sat in our den, in our comfortable surrounding
Reciting and dictating
Fighting and giggling

For one hour I was her teacher,
For another hour I became her student
Pointing out each other’s slightest error gave authority
Counting those red circles on each other’s copy gave satisfaction

When would all break into a game,
Only the guilt of ‘posing’ to study would tell later.

Burying our heads into books
discovering a game in them was tricky.

It got dark
It got confusing
But the game continued,
We pondered
We concentrated like never before
Not a word to be missed
Not a letter to be left
We continued to play
We continued to accuse

Then the rain stopped,
Then the game ended.

The night promised another “Rainy Day”
But the terrible sun rays pierced my window the very next day
It had to be a “school day”

Nudging each other all the way
Taunting each other on the defeat when actually none of us had won the game
She was a “cheater” for me, I was a “loser” for her

Grudgingly we got down from our Auto-Rickshaw

She wouldn’t forget to bid good-bye
I wouldn’t forget to give her a smile.

With a few droplets on my palm,
With a few droplets on my cheek
I would wait to watch the rain flood the street again.

They say I am tied to my memories,
They say I am a prisoner of the past

I smile and say,

        “I remember the people who made me what I am today.”