Bangladesh has been experiencing the highest rainfall in decades. Unprecedented floods inundated northern Bangladesh, causing havoc. Dhaka city is often swamped with trapped water, causing traffic paralysis. City dwellers dread whenever they see dark clouds above in the sky followed by a heavy downpour. Rainwater doesn't find a canal or a drain to move away, triggering unspeakable miseries to people. The city has already gained the notoriety of being unliveable. You cannot blame the city for its being so ugly; it's designers' fault.
Full of concrete jungles, it may seem that this city lacks beauty, warmth and emotion. You hear mostly caws, those harsh calls of crows and ravens. Indifferent in manner, its people just like its automobiles move with a dry and mechanical rhyme. Yet, the city has a soul and at times flowers its beauty. Despite all its inconveniences and ugliness Dhaka city still retains its intrinsic beauty; her beauty appears in citizens' life every moment, even in the most improbable circumstances. Like, when there is a heavy rainfall. Rains in villages are thrilling. Rains in a city like Dhaka are no less exuberant.
For the last few weeks, city dwellers, especially those of us who are retired, are enjoying a lively choreography of rains and thunders. Last Wednesday (September 13) was special, when I had the pleasure of adding one more gem of a memory to my warm sanctuary. It was a day of heavy, drenching, hammering and overwhelming flows of rain, it was the truest downpour I have ever enjoyed in my whole life. On such a day, you abandon yourself fully to the theatre of rain.
It was the day for my mooching indoor, curled up on a cushy chair, beside the best viewing glass window and enjoying the bounty of landscape. The sky got gradually masked by cloud covers; everything darkened almost like an evening after sunset. A cool breeze swept as clouds were whirling past at improbable speed bumping into each other making thunders. A storm ensued. Trees swayed in submission to the forceful and howling wind. The intensity of falling rain increased into a heavy downpour. Relishing such a transformation of beautiful nature from the comfort of a secured room in my apartment was revealing.
It was a day to savour the pitter-patter sounds of rain outside, the splendour of raindrops making a tapestry on the other side of a window glass---sometimes skimming the glass surface in zigzag patterns and at times in their vertical decorations. Dancing bolts of lightning blasted down from the sky. Captivating flows of rain were jolted by sky-smashing thunders that clapped deafeningly, as if nature had hired some giant drummers and percussionists to beat those humongous drums of lightning in synch with timpani taps of incessant rains---creating a stormy symphony, a tangible classical orchestra.
Such a day had to be spent in a village to plunge into the thundershower and soothe our ears with the sound of rain dancing on a tin-roof, wearing its chiming anklets. On such a day, you reflect on your thirsting attraction for your village home.
No Bangladeshi can be found who doesn't love even-tempered rhythm of raindrops on the tin-shed roofs of a house, making a lullaby music for one to relax and sleep under a quilt. During such torrential rains, it would be a blunder if one chooses to sleep wrapped in a western furry blanket! He should choose a 'kantha quilt', a kind of a throw-blanket made with layers of vintage saris that are hand-stitched by Bangladeshi rural women in traditional patterns.
Experiencing rain in a Bangladeshi village is simply divine. Who doesn't like to walk barefoot on the earthen pathways of a remote hamlet, smell the distinct fragrance of good earth, and feel the rendezvous of nature deep inside on such a lovely rainy day in a village home?
Children in Dhaka city also feel the finesse of nature. There are only five or six preteen kids living in our apartment complex. They are naughty. They often vex me by making unnecessary sounds on the roof and sometimes ringing our doorbell and then running away. But, I enjoy the sight when they run up to the roof and dance with the raindrops falling on their faces. They feel the rain music. They try to catch the rain making a cup with their two hands. They invite the rain onto their skins, then stand, face up, mouth open, trying to feel raindrops on their tongues.
With rain in Dhaka city, one finds an excuse to be late in his office. For a habitually late worker rain is rather a blessing, a godsend; your boss will not roll his eyes if you are late by half an hour. If you are drenched from a downpour in the morning with rain dripping off your nose, there is a good chance you would be given a leave from office after lunchtime. The burden of doing something with your time is suddenly lifted. Deep down, you feel a liberating ecstasy.
Rains on a holiday gives you a boundless freedom to spin your wheels. No study, no work. Just idle away your time. Don't fight with an umbrella that refuses to behave, just give in and get drenched. Use any excuse to let loose. Alone or with a loved one, a rainstorm offers you the ingredient needed to whip up your passion of a long-repressed embrace.
After the rain, as people and birds gently step back out into the street and the sky, the signature post-rainfall smell is all around. It's a fabulous scene and time for quiet beauty. The winds die down, the song of raindrops fades away, and we are left in a world that seems calmer than before. If we are lucky, we get the chance to observe a miraculous rainbow, even in a city.
