It began drizzling today. The mud gave a sweet and pleasant smell. I wished it lasted forever. Swiftly I ran down the memory lane with memoirs of all the rains that I had had in my life hitherto. Some good and some bad.
Incidentally, I also heard the beautiful song by Parikrama in the morning. An excerpt of the story taken from Parikrama's website http://www.parikrama.com/bir/story.html says:
thousands are reported missing each year...
this is about those who are left behind
" ... Meanwhile, relatives of the four kidnapped tourists are back in the country to make yet another appeal. It has been a year now since the abduction, and the last seven months have seen little but a stony silence.”
"Amid reports of illness, injury and threats of death, was the uncertainty of not knowing what to believe ... she did not even get to say goodbye" said the wife of one of the hostages. More appeals have been made some even by other militant organizations, but the message is ..."
This is an excerpt from a magazine report published more than 5 years ago. It hit us in the face then, it still tingles in the spine each time. We wrote this song then, in an effort to feel the uncertainty, the futility, ourselves. To share the yet shimmering hope of those who are left waiting for a loved one. At times forever. It's worse still, not having even said a goodbye, or caught the last eye. As funerals are. Ceremonial farewells, perhaps?
Five long years, not a word, nor a trace. Some of them have still not given up, as we read in the papers recently. They wait, even today ... we can hear the strain ...
I quickly got over the bad memories of rains and rejoiced the good ones. Perhaps the bad ones were not so bad indeed. They had a lesson hidden deep inside.
One song and the feeling that one must count more on the blessings than wail on imprecations got so lucidly dawned. Indeed, life doesn't give you all sunshines and you never know when it might terribly rain.
