Rainy Day

My face is against the glass and it feels cold and wet. I can feel the rain on my face. The persistent drizzle has bathed the city roads reflecting the city on its shores in varied hues. Sitting inside the bus and reading Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, the wet cold does interfere in my journey with Marlowe but it is not totally out of place. Marlowe is not alone in his tattered boat, as he steers it close to the bank where the water is deep. Deep inside him he knows he is all alone, yet he feels a million eyes following him. The eyes lay hidden behind the surrounding vegetation which has swallowed the sun leaving Marlowe with only the memories of light. He is yet to meet Kurtz. He is yet to reach the heart of darkness. I close the book and look outside. The bus is sparsely populated and towards the rear I am all alone. I wish fervently that I remain so. In this late afternoon, I do not seek company. I thought of calling my wife, just to say hello. She must be sleeping now, I thought, and let it go. There is no music inside the bus, sometimes there is. Hindi pop, the latest film music etc. Often they start off really loud and you have to tell them to lower it down. Today, the rain brings with it its own music silently. I lean back on my seat and close my eyes. I just want to think of nothing. I love my wife, a woman who entered my life silently from nowhere, just like I did in hers. The slithering chill makes me long for winter again, reminds me of the warmth I find with her. It’s nice, all of a sudden, in the middle of the day to return home. It’s nice to have a home to go back to.
The drizzle shows no sign of abating. It is determined to remain in my senses without being overpowering. It feels like London, though I have never been there. Through the opposite window I see the outer face of the walls that enclose the book fair. It seems to be taking shape finally, getting hold of itself. I open my bag to take out my earphones. If the radio is playing something worthwhile, I needed to hear it. The bus has stopped at the red light. As I waited for the smudged red to change to green, I remembered that long ago, I hated such a day. Today, I am unable to remember the precise reason, but I know the hate is gone. The sun is sleeping somewhere, taking a break, and the bus makes its way slowly. The outside world does not reach me in their intensity and impatience. I feel like I am absent and unknown. The soft rain does sometimes make a day beautiful or so I seem to think. Maybe, I think right.