A silent walk in the rain.

A barren spirit tailored in a 5 feet three inches body, and the body cocooned in a slack black raincoat under a dingy grey (gray) sky. The troika being unsatisfied for no apparent reason went for a rain walk.

It was a fortuitous walk in the rain roughly around 5.30 in the evening and was feeling castoff, harbouring a substantial and indomitable urge to catch up for a brisk lease of life, breath of air, and feeling of freeness. There was a spine-chilling cold outside but I guess it was not even remotely close to the frigidness inside me. There was a big chunk of arctic growing in me, engulfing me and my feelings gradually freezing my thoughts and feelings little by little.

Without any conscious effort, I just pulled in my raincoat, donned my oversized rain boots and walked into the green under the grey blanket of clouds. It was mizzling outside without being any eminent.  What next? An unspecified thing within nudged me to JUST WALK. Therefore, I walked aimlessly towards the nearby park. The otiose raindrops piloted slothfully and willy-nilly over my raincoat. I took heed they shooting down gently on my coat’s hood and then arriving at my shoulders and sluing unto my boots- melting off into infinity. It was enormously a tacit rain indeed. I guess it was speculating on silence. All I could pick up was rapping of my blue boots trampling in muddy waters. I was all-empty with no conscious ‘consciousness’. The bombastic iron gates of the park were wide open. For the first time, I felt someone receiving me with such an extensively stretched out arms. The panorama from that point was beyond any literary verbalism. I palpated it subtly and silently. I called in that park many times but it never subsisted this charming. What made it so magical?

I found it to be my maiden visit to that erstwhile park. Every inch of the park, every contour, every leaf, the soil, the scent, the air…. everything appeared complete and blissful. The park that usually inundated with people jogging, exercising, lying on the grass. cycling, walking, sitting, standing, stretching, jumping, laughing, crying, hating, loving, imagining, looming, meditating, reading, writing, smooching, flirting, spitting, reeking, niggling, squalling, grumbling- seemed resplendently lull. It was wholly dowsed with life like an epitome of sprightliness, a Shangri-La, an alien space, a terra incognita, an unswayed realm, an endearing verse of love. All I can say is I lived a private moment in the unknowingness of the knowingness.

I walked few more paces, realized myself standing flyspeck, and imbrued at the midriff of a huge ground, swamped with dampness afresh. All my eyes could conceive was a bow of stout trees zoning the ground. No one knows how long they stood there in silence experiencing the euphoria… resonating with some of something that I cherished. I birthed no reason to stand there and think so intensely about them. However, the inner detective never stopped from drawing inference on the wisdom, the age, the size, etc.  I struggled to move but stood stuck, denting the wet ground as the grass blades kissed my boots. I gazed until it dimmed into nihility. I sensed everything of nothing. A warm saline mischief consorted my cheeks marking the contours of my shivering lips. Why did I cry?  I looked into the vast sky heavily gestated with darkness. The rain gained momentum and the salinity in my eyes diluted.

I walked into some shade to stomach the liberation from my anxiety. Before I could fully assimilate my newly found freedom, beautiful stretch of tar with rhythmically fallen maple leaves…. a wonderful nature-laid wallpaper, satiated my vision. Leaves….. some fresh, some semi fresh, some dried, some semi dried, some decayed, and all, without any racism of freshness/staleness; freshly dried/ burnt some weeks ago, were there together contrasting and complementing the background. Everything seemed awe-inspiring in every aspect. Every maple leaf there had a cute little story to tell. With every passing wind, the leaves flexed whispering LISTEN. Even the most dried and decayed leaves seemed alive. What was that my senses perceived? What was that conceived glee? What made my spirit jump in joy? What made my heart warm in that icy cold rain?

Effortlessly, I took the air back to my home enquiring why I failed to see this beaut before. May be, I was too enwrapped in the superficiality of life happening around me. May be, I never surrendered myself completely to it. May be, I was too clattery to listen to the silence. Maybe, I never understood the mysterious ways of nature. May be, I limited myself to hearing, listening was too far from that. May be…

Time flew and I found myself groping for keys. I was back into the warmth of my home in no time. The moments of unflappability, the solitude, haunted me obtusely thereafter. I desired to relive every arcsecond of the newly found elatedness so penning down the unedited tone just the way I sensed.  Excuse typos and grammar as these are my magical moments straight from the park to the blog.