The Lamp post that rained

There was an odd thing about it. It rained. I stood under it and it rained and rained and all I could do was reach out my hand to the dry earth and wonder why it was here, all alone, under this lamp post that it would rain on me.

This is a story not about love or death or misery. I don’t know if this tale serves any purpose in its existence. It exists. I have ever since that day attempted to know why it was this happened to me. And for that sole purpose I mimic the traveler who tells all about the albatross. I hope that at least you would help me make sense of this.

I was in a foreign land. I won’t tell you my origins or where I was then. All that matters is that it wasn’t home. Abject and disappointed I was trawling the streets, barely looking up from the extremely interesting studying of my fraying shoes. The passing feet too caught my fancy. There was the staid, sturdy typical brown cap toes. The slow, grudging dragging of these told many a story of the weary traveler going home. Taking a look, one would think that home held as much appeal as a groper for a first date.

Then there were the ballerinas. Literally skipping home, I could only envy the exuberance of the youth. I reserved that level of unbridled enthusiasm for blueberry ice cream alone.

And then she passed by. That amazingly, sexy walk in those lovely, emerald green heels. Confident, seemingly not going anywhere, she walked towards me in that sashay of hers that made me finally look up. As my eyes ravaged her, all I could think of was that God knew how to play a cruel joke. Give the love of your life a whore’s face and not only will she be unattainable but all the more tempting to you. Those heels drew a sharp contrast with the harsh make up on her face and the half-bitten lipstick. Fishnet will never look good on anyone after her. She made those tramp clothes look like satin that just flowed over her skin. And finally she passed me by, winking and grabbing me in a lewd manner.

That did it I guess, I don’t like women who proposition me. Now if she had chosen that opportune moment to take a decidedly un-ladylike tumble, I would’ve cut in to save her. And my dream could’ve continued as it had till now. But then again, whoever got what they wanted?

I walked to the nearest store almost colliding with a little girl chewing pink candy as loud as she could. That little butt munch was decidedly rude, shoving me aside and laughing a harsh, mean bark that she could’ve only learnt at home for years to have achieve that perfect tone.

Oh forgive me, I don’t mean to insult a child. It’s probably ingrained in her. This disdain for all that was alien. In my short time here, I have seen it enough to have become impervious to it. But damn it, that little girl was rude enough for it to hurt just a little bit.

The business done, I went back out, glad to get a bit of the last sunlight we would see for a while. To me, every hour seemed like a day, every day like a year. There was absolutely nothing to do, nothing to look forward to, and no one to think of.

The only thing I looked forward to in my whole existence here was dinner. Dinner that was served two streets from where I was. Dinner that reminded me of home with the scents and the sounds. Dinner that was given to me free since I was oft mistaken for a bum. After the first few times, I gave up trying to correct that misconception. I was not affluent enough to throw money around and where I came from; free food was always appreciated. I walked a fast walk, dying to get to my haunt where  the old lady with the warts and the nose hair stood impatiently, tapping a foot, my dinner tray in her hand.

I turned to corner to see a blank canvas. God had forgotten to account for my presence on Earth today and I had been left to starve, my fat lady savior nowhere in sight. I stood under a lamp post, waiting for the flickering lights to come on and the shops to open. As I stood there and lit a light, the lamp post came to life.

There was an odd thing about it. It rained. I stood under it and it rained and rained and all I could do was reach out my hand to the dry earth and wonder why it was here, all alone, under this lamp post that it would rain on me.

I looked up to see if I could trace the cause of all this rain through the sheer volume that was pouring down on me. I craned my neck a little more but all that I could hear was this gushing of rain that came down on me, all the while it being completely dry all around me.

While I stood there being doused, people milled around me; unaware of everything but their precious, dreary existences and the next misery that would befall them. I knew that I often slipped under the radar, not really being seen by anyone but this was bordering on the insane.

I splashed water on a few bystanders as they waited alongside me and all I got in response was an irritated shrug.

I stood there for a long time, dusk turned to night, the restaurant opened and closed and I stood there; entranced by the magical lamp post that was raining.

I don’t know how long it was before I willed my legs to move and carry me home.

The next day as I rushed back, I knew it was gone. My experience of the night before wasn’t to be repeated and despite this I couldn’t help that small pain that shot through me for an instant. That lamp post gave me what a life time of work hadn’t. It gave me something that was just mine.

I still don’t know why it rained. Do you?