This is a serial. Everyday a new part will be published. This is the sixth part.
Continued from here.
As we grow older, Rain starts to seem like a teacher. Someone, who has not changed ever since the beginning, someone who has not altered her miraculous properties. Someone who has never ceased to be inspiring. Someone rather than something. As we grow even more older, we see people leaving us, luck leaving us and sometimes money leaving us. But rain never leaves us. It always comes back every rainy season and wets us awkwardly.
When we are very old and our bed becomes our universe, we start to acknowledge the Smell of the rain. The smell of wet soil. The smell of rushing drains, well, maybe not. But surely, the smell of heavenly water itself.
And one fine day, we ascend. We ascend high up to the level from where the rain originated. On our route to heaven, we briefly peep into the clouds, with an intention to find out how the rain looks in the factory. And what we see surprises us. We do not see fluffy clouds laden with moisture. Instead we find, old wise men and women, much like us, sitting there. This brings back our childlike curiosity. We take a right turn and start moving towards these old people. We have never even thought of the possibility of seeing people sitting on the clouds, let alone hope to see houses and buildings up on them. But there they were. Hidden from our view by the mighty clouds themselves.
We approach the first person we find. An old lady perhaps. We ask her about herself and everyone else around, who were not herself.
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She says, she was your classmate!
To be continued. Next part will be available here.
