Petrichor

It generally doesn't rain on February but for some reason it is raining today ever since I woke up at 5 a.m. this morning. Perhaps even nature has felt my pain and is crying with me, trying to escape the cruelties of life... Maybe... Maybe not... I don't know...

A lot of memories.. the best memories of my life had been made and coloured under the beautiful drops of rain or on calm and soothing rainy days. These memories, I know, will never be recreated again... it's my hard luck. But I know that I have to live with it.

Today when I looked out of the window and felt the rain drops, a string of memories came rushing back. We had began our journey under the rain. I still clearly remember that day when I was running down the street with my mother shouting behind me to prevent me getting drenched in the rain. But I've always been a crazy lover of rains. No one can stop me from feeling one with rains... It's the most beautiful creation of nature... It made me meet the most beautiful and wonderful person I've ever known... It gave me so many occasions to write poetry on... It gave me fulfillment.. And when it stops raining and the wet soil just fills the soul... Petrichor!

I was running down the empty street in utter delight when I saw him sitting in a bus stand and scribbling something down in a small black diary. Beside him was kept a guitar. I was curious to get to know him so I went and sat down there and waited in silence for him to finish putting his thoughts in words. He got stuck after a while so I peeped into his diary and read his lines:

"My heart was aching when the rain kissed me,

And I was struck by the eternal beauty."

I sat for two minutes while he chewed his pen trying to construct the next line. He couldn't get it and I felt the dire need of helping him. Not being able to construct a line is such a deep pain and I could really feel his breaking heart.

"And I felt that my happiness could't have been more,

As I breathed in the Petrichor.", I said with a smile.

He looked at me for a second and then hurriedly wrote down the lines and still glancing at the page asked for my name. "Reva.",I said.

He wrote below the lines '-By Reva and Omair'.

He looked up and smiled at me and extending his hand said "Friends?"

"Friends.", I smiled.

Our friendship began on this note. That day however I was not sure if we could continue being friends because I felt that maybe I would never meet him again. But two days later we again met in the library searching for 'Wordsworth's collection of poems'. We began searching together and found it and with a joyous heart sat reading it under a shady tree. We discovered that we had both read them several times before and could very well recite them, feel them together. An hour into this we closed it and started talking. I suddenly remembered that we hadn't thought of any title for the poem we had written that day.

"Omair, what about the title of the poem we composed together?"

"I couldn't come up with any suitable title."

"Let's both think now."

"Yeah sounds good."

A few minutes went by and we quipped in unison "Petrichor."

We exchanged phone numbers that day and realised that we stay only two blocks away from each other and visit the library twice a week on the same day, listen to same music every night. Though we had each other's phone numbers we hardly exchanged words over phone or text messages. Instead we wrote each other letters and put in the letter box of each other's houses. The smell and feel of letters is so refreshing and soothing that it just rejuvenates you even when you're at your worst. I loved to check the letter box every morning and taking the white little envelope to my room, opening it, unfolding the sheet put inside and running my hands through the words and reading them. It's so different... so beautiful..

We met in the library on Sundays and Wednesdays in the evenings. On Saturday mornings we would go to the usually deserted place on the mountains and read poetry together. One fine Saturday when it was raining very heavily we decided to sit in that old bus stand where we had met and were going through a new book of poetry when we came across a poem called 'After Rain' by Edward Thomas. That was one of our most beautiful discoveries.

We had spent hours sitting under a tree and reading a book- either poetry or stories.We had composed so many poems together. I cannot express what joy it gave us to compose poem together. We felt united. We felt one. I would sometimes set tunes for some of our poems and he would play it in his guitar and then we would sing together. He taught me to play the guitar while I taught him to paint. An our favourite subject was 'Rain'. We composed huge number of poems on rain and it's beauty and the calmness we feel during a shower.

We shared our deepest moments and conversations when it rained. We talked life and emotions and feelings and poetry either soaking our skin in rain or watching it clean the world. We breathed petrichor together... We held hands and looked on into eternity and let our thoughts flow.

Our bond grew stronger and stronger and poetry and rain were our backbones. They held us together always. I completed him and he completed me. The whole of me loved the whole of him. We felt so comfortable with each other. It was such a relief to see that while people searched for stupid occasions to celebrate their bond or show affection, we celebrated our bond everyday, every moment. Each second was so special... I believed that we would never be apart. It was not possible.

One day I asked him, "What if anyone of us die before the other?What will happen then?"

"What do you mean?"

"We will be separated Omair!", I was almost in tears.

"Why are you thinking about all this suddenly?"

"Just random thoughts."

"Don't worry. We will never be separated."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I am like the cloud about to burst, you're like the rain and our bond is like the petrichor."

"I didn't get you."

"You will one day.", he smiled.

It has been ten years now that he is no more suffering from personhood but he is still with me I know. I find him in the poems I read and the poems I compose. I find him in his letters and in the bus stand. I find him on that mountain and in the library. I find him everywhere. Because he had rightly said that he is the cloud about to burst and I am the rain. We can never be apart. And our bond... it is like the Petrichor. I cannot see it but I can feel it...

The rain has stopped and I see the couples happy that finally they will be able to celebrate their bond on Valentine's Day. I remember how we celebrated our love each day, each second. I breathe in the petrichor and embrace our memories again with a happy smile and a few tears and sit down to read our favourite poem for the millioneth time- 'After Rain' and from afar I again hear him reading with me...

Our love has lived on... like the petrichor...

-Reva.