It rained and rained and they danced and danced, sloshing in the puddles that had soon formed all around them. The Ragpickers Rain Dance lent a sparkle to the morning.
Enjoy Morning Meanderings with a hot cup of tea or coffee and some cookies to munch on the food for thought. 😊 ☕️
Every morning, I could almost guess the time correctly by looking at the light falling on the window pane, but today, morning, there was no light.
“It must be quarter to five,” I said, casting a confident look at the clock on the wall, but alas, the look turned out to be overconfident. It was already six, but because of the cloud cover outside, it appeared dark. A peacock squawked from a distance, followed by a series of loud squawks. Wasting not a moment, I hastened out, to be greeted by an immensely cloudy sky.
There was a profusion of peacocks outside, pecking at the ground, while a lone pigeon watched from the telephone wire. The pigeon saw a couple of kids, ragpickers actually, with absolutely woebegone looks, tattered clothes and a lackadaisical body language plodding towards the vacant plot which played host to a variety of polythene bags, empty liquor bottles, cartons and discarded shoes and slippers. The younger kid was a girl and the elder one a boy. When I smiled at them, they did not know how to react, but kept stealing glances at me, while they scavenged in the garbage dump outside the garbage can.
Soon, more small and large clouds converged on the sky, rumbling and stumbling and cannoning into each other, and soon raindrops started pelting the terraces, balconies, garages and windowpanes. The kids, as if waiting for this very moment, flung away their sacks, and burst into a jig, flailing their bony limbs in all directions. I dashed towards a tree and watched, intrigued. In no time the grime and woe fell from their faces, their teeth sparkling in untrammeled glee.
Their joy was so infectious that I also wanted to jump into their midst, but better sense prevailed, otherwise the poor pigeon would have been embarrassed.
Another ragpicker couple soon appeared, and the kids raced towards them and pulled them in their midst.
“Mummy, kya nakhrey ker rahi ho?”
“Papa, aap bhi aao.”
Soon the ragpicker family had forgotten all their cares and were dancing away to the tune of one rain song after another. I watched them, enthralled. It rained and rained and they danced and danced, sloshing in the puddles that had soon formed all around them.
The rain stopped, and the dancers, once again morphed into ragpickers, their eyes darting around, hunting for small treasures that would lend some sparkle to their lives. But, unbeknownst to them, they had inadvertently lent sparkle to my morning and I saluted them for this magnanimity.
I looked around for the old granny, she was nowhere to be found. The rain had probably played villain. The school kids were also not going to school on this rainy day and there were no joggers around, but the lone pigeon continued sitting on the telephone wire, like a seasoned stoic.
I hopped back home, a medley of rain songs on my lips, chhoti si kahaani se baarishon ke paani se…aaj rapat jaayein…. rimjhim ke taraane leke aayi barsaat…”
“Madam, mind your step, you will slip.” This was the student next door, his voice, concerned.
I minded my step, smiling gratefully in his direction, and was back home, hugging the image of the rain dance of the ragpickers close to my heart.
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