Pattering Love.

April 19, 2012 at 10:04 pm (Uncategorized)

SPRING- The elysium that houses sweet smells, strawberries, daisies, smiles and the eve of exams. Exams, shoulder pain, research submission deadlines, taking your anger out on your loved ones (and moreover, your own work).

Today I skipped college and hospital hours for scientific  research writing. In the afternoon, when I ran after a friend who was going out to ask her to get me strawberries, I saw the signs. A breeze that stops you clean in your tracks, and that reminds you of beautiful things. I peeped out of the window, and then turned my back on it.

Analysis- you need to describe your sample with biostatistics; where is that rogue the mean, and where is that statistical function from Pennsylvania called CountIf?

A knock on the door after a prayer break- ‘Here are your strawberries! Are they enough? I brought you colourful fry-ups, look, they come in wheels!’

The sweet scents of spring force themselves in- beguiling, conquering. But enough of that, I close the door.

Another friend comes knocking on the door with a plate of strawberries- ‘Surprise! I knew you wanted them’; only to look at the ginormous bag of fresh strawberries lying on my table with eyes that were not as glassy as they were a moment back. What a sweetheart. Another reminder of spring, what’s outside, and it’s loveliness.

I step out of my room in the evening, to cook myself some dinner- something quick.  When I pass through the window, and look at it unconsciously, what is outside flashes.



My favourite weather?

I steal hungry glances out the kitchen window.

Brothers Karamazov and dinner. The rain does not allow Ivan Fyodorovitch or Alyosha- whoever it was- to captivate me as usual during dinner time. It patters at my window and beckons me out.

I leave the room, unsure when it will stop- it is coming down so lightly; gently. I take a leap of faith, and run down the stairs into the streaming rain, which welcomes me and appeals to my senses. My favourite weather! What thoughts come into my mind, what sensualism- but not pure sensualism; rather, all my senses getting pleasure- all my senses reminding me of what the Divine did for me!

He did not allow the rain to stop until I had entered in to it. Until I had walked through it, until I had pondered in the rain, until my face stopped wincing at the cold drops streaming down it, and until I was reminded about the angels and their fear for Him when it thunders:

‘How perfect He is, (The One) Whom the thunder declares His perfection with His praise, as do the angels out of fear of Him.’


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