On Saturday Night

I jumped around in the pure cold water falling from the heavens.



I lost my appetite.



I threatened to run away with my umbrella in the rain because I enjoyed the chhup-chhup-splash-chhup sound of my feet. I found my appetite when served with daal makhani and tandoori roti. I polished off the onion-cucumber-saltwater curd.



I made cute little faces that drew laughter.



After running away and not finding my friend right behind me, I turned back and went to where he was standing and listening to the rain fall. I let a cycle-wallah pass by.



I lost something I cannot name.



I was truly deeply unquestionably happy for those hours.



I played with the umbrella, twirling it around, sensing the cold water seep into my shirt and bra. My shoulders shivered against the breeze. I laughed, pouted, giggled and hopped on my toes like a five-year-old. I was relieved, subdued, sad but so utterly free.



I skipped with sheer delight, unmindful of people, voices, eyes or noises.



Transparent - dark as night – water drops flopped on my head, clung to my hair and slid down them, leaving little watery parts on my wobbly scalp.



A part of me loosened all the tears, but did not have to cry.



The sky was doing a wonderful job.