Yesterday it rained heavily, very heavily. Sitting by the glass window, I could see patterns that the falling rain drops made on the glass pane. The virgin drops of the first monsoon shower kept falling, kept flooding my window, leaving strange, incomprehensible impressions on the window pane. As a child I loved the rains. We lived in our old quarters then which had a small garden as the focal attraction of the place. With every splurge of the first downpour, my garden would be thoroughly drenched. The rose, hibiscus, lily, marigold, rajnigandha plants and the so many nameless and unfamiliar shrubberies used to brighten up as if smiling back at the new lease of life endowed on them. I was quite young yet could somehow comprehend the bliss with which my tacit backyard smiled. I would in return be equally happy seeing their glee, wishing zealously for another shower of happiness soon. The times slowly changed. We moved to the 5th floor of a 7 storied building. The garden is lost and so is my childhood. People have changed, conditions have changed and so have I. The rains now don’t really bring happiness along with it, there’s no more joy. It just leaves behind evocative, wistful reminiscences and a melancholic me sitting by the glass window trying to figure out the patterns made by the falling rain drops on the window pane!!!!!