The Summer of 14.

Well I must say I am back to punching keyboards on my laptop, yet I do not have a specific thing sure enough to write on what. I am little bored in this summer afternoon, wanted to watch world cup highlights but the cable connection is disrupt again due to rain. I reread few pages of Paulo Coelho’s The Zahir yet it was not enough to keep me going further as I had finished reading this particular book more than thrice a year ago. I scanned my bookshelf that store more than 50 novels yet no titles excited me enough to flip the pages. So just to save myself from boredom, I thought why not write something and blog it; so I begin typing here without a firm setting to what I am going to write on. As I type it, my ears are tuned to the sound of rains beating on the balcony’s roof I am sitting under. Since I was here in Dagana, it has been raining all the time, making it a dull day for me to go out and venture. I long for the sun to shine to dry up all the wet surroundings. I admit I miss sunshine now. I can still hear the rain beats dominating the atmosphere, foggy and invisible in the distant horizon. Few hours ago, it was clear sky without fog that I had a majestic view from my place; in the distant below, a group of farmers were bound to their paddy trans plantation in the rain, clad in rain coat (some in homemade plastic raincoat)

 “aiee tashh, charb na changla chap dey.” my mom said with an appreciative smile.

Behind her smile, I could sense some kind of sympathy for farmers who are restless in such weather. They had no option; they need to do the transplantation when their terraces are Abundant with water and for most rain is the blessing. If they don’t do it right now, it would be too late to do it later. My mother knows it too well as she u

se to do such work back in her village. I hated rain because I am deprived of things I wanted to do with my friends. I hated rain because it frequently disrupts electric power as well as television connection now and then.  I hated rain because I miss the warmth of the sun.

I have mentioned that I hated rain, because it is the reason why I can’t go out to play outdoor games or hang out with my friends. We had fixed a football match with bank officials yet the nonstop rain made it impossible as nobody wants to play in the rain and muddy field. I cursed the weather.  But my mother’s word made me realize that I was being too selfish and that I am thinking all to my own benefits and comfort. The content farmers working in the field in such weather made me take back my words of missing sun and how much I hate rain.

But the truth is that I should be proud and content like farmers who rejoice the rain. The thing I had hated so much is a blessing to some section of the people out here. Since most are agriculturist here, rain is what they pray for, every summer.  They rejoice to the sound of the thunder, something that pierces my eardrum. They dance when the first drop of rain land on their palm, I even hate to see rain raining. It is nobody’s dream to spend your much awaited holidays stuck under rain. But after taking my mother’s word, I now think summer is not very bad season after all. The summer is all about monsoon, perpetual shower of rain, sun hidden deep behind cumulonimbus, rumbling of clouds and loud thunder occupying the silent atmosphere and lightening frightening every soul now and then. This is nothing new, all summers has been like that, where fields look as if it afloat on sea. Even Bryan Adams’ ‘the summer of 69’ had been full of rain, thunderous sky and lands blanketed by rain water. If the sun shines, it would take weeks and weeks to dry up the rain ponds and seas that have formed over heavy shower of rain. Even the environment that was dirtied by man’s labor was cleansed for a few days by the rain. Indeed ‘the summer of 14’ is a beautiful season, not only to farmers but to all of us.

 I think I like rain now.