The rain hammers down and pools at the back of the garden. By the time I finish my homework and get up to look out the window, it has filled the concrete patio and flows down the steps at the back of the garden like a little waterfall. I watch it, transfixed, glossy clear reflecting the silver of the sky.

Here in Malaysia, so close to the equator we are blessed with warm rain, and I love to play in it, to swish about in the garden and dance with the droplets. But I can’t, because I’ll catch cold and my myriad of childhood ailments could flare up and kill me. I sigh and unhurriedly leave the window while my imagination plays in the rain.

I stop suddenly as something grips me, an idea, a feeling, a shadow at the back of my mind; a collection of things I can’t describe or even begin to understand, I turn and run and dash out into the rain, up the steps, to the grass at the back of the garden where I splash about in my bare feet spinning as the lightening strikes nearby, and the thunder consumes everything all around it. The earth shakes around me – I am shiva dancing – at one with the universe. I laugh and spin, playing in the rain, feeling the warm droplets patter off my skin. It seems the joy is a thing, something palpable and real, something that could last forever, until amma spots me and shouts at me to get in.

“Aaliyah!” she cries, “Get in here you stupid girl before you catch your death.”

She gently slaps the back of my head as I pad past her, my wet feet leaving a trail of silver footsteps on the marble floor. Amma’s complaints merge into a stream of sound that fades away unheard, I’m not listening, I’m wrapped in the feeling of happiness still. The gods can take me when they’re ready but they’ll never stop me playing in the rain!

Fin.

(Image: based on public domain photo by Perojevic.)