After sending the girls and their Dad to the school and office respectively and having finished few daily chores, I cozily cuddled myself on the relaxing chair.
Sleepy I was after a tiring week at work.
A little while later, I heard the sound of the most beautiful music ever.
Tip! Tip! Tip! Tip!
The sound of rain drops hitting the roof skylight startled me from my sleep.
As someone who is immensely in love with rain, though exhausted to the core, I sat up with the most beautiful smile on my face. Yeah. I know it as I know how much I adore rains.
I sat down on the window sill relishing every single drop of rain. I love how it washes away all the plants and trees leaving a fresh green all around. The droplets falling down the window panes somehow make me relate it to homecoming. The rain drops dripping from the leaves of the Pendulum tree close to the window took me through a journey of thoughts. I was deeply engrossed in my thoughts and the rain when the doorbell rang.
Knock Knock! Knock Knock!
The doorbell rang again as I made my way to the main gate.
My smile widened when I saw hubby at the doorstep with the girls and a huge packet in his hands.
As he extended the packet to me, I asked, “What is it?”
I eagerly opened the packet to find hot samosas, onion bhajjis and a cake.
Samosas and onion bhajjis made perfect sense on this rainy afternoon. But I could not make out what was the occasion for the cake.
“What’s the occasion man? What’s this cake for?”
He said, “You’re growing old. You forgot it. Make a wild guess!”
Without wasting much time in guessing and letting the samosas and bhajjis lose the freshness, I marched into the kitchen. With a wave of my magic wand, I rushed out with two cups of piping hot filter coffee and the samosas and bhajjis spread on a plate.
And then I asked again, “Hey tell me naa, what is this cake for?”
He wouldn’t budge. He wanted me to remember.
Knowing very well about how forgetful I am with dates, with a sip of his filter coffee, he muttered slowly,
“15 June 2001. It was a similar rainy afternoon, filled with the same aroma of filter coffee at Madras Cafe. And someone was sitting right in front of me for the very first time, completely drenched and with droplets slowly dripping down her face. As I kept gazing at her face and she kept rescuing her eyes from meeting mine, the rain roared as if signalling something. And then she said: I love rains. They give me strength. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Dad about us.”
I felt like doing a somersault and then a ballroom dance with him right then and there at that very moment. But I settled in with just a big hug and a peck on his cheeks.
As the rain drops trickled down the French window panes, we sat together on the swing in the porch sipping our coffee and munching the hot and spicy samosas and bhajjis while the girls were busy making paper boats and sailing them.
Quiet and peaceful.
Simple, but together.
A lot of emotions running high.
This. This is it. The perfect rainy afternoon for me.
This post is part of the WordPress Daily Prompts : 365 Writing Prompts program where the aim is to post at least once a day based on the prompts that they have provided. Today’s prompt is, “Singin’ in the rain: Safe inside, toasty warm, while water pitter-patters on the roof…describe your perfect, rainy afternoon.“