My black umbrella

I woke up to the sound of thunder. It was raining outside. I groped for my spectacles in the dark. Ah there, I took and wore it and switched on the bedside lamp. The clock showed the time was 4:30 AM. It was half an hour before my usual wake up time. Lying on the soft bed, wrapped in a blanket, warm and cozy, I contemplated on what to do next. The sound of rain was becoming distant. It became really quiet, maybe waking up early was a good thing. 

Winter mornings are always difficult to wake up, the cold makes my bones brittle. But it is a 40-year old habit and I want to keep it going. I am not budging to the cold or rain today. Twenty minutes later, I was ready in my walking clothes, with my shoes, coat and black umbrella. I walked out to the living room to see my son, getting ready for his morning jog. Today I am not taking a ‘no’ for an answer. At 75, how much life do I have left, to not experience a walk on a beautiful rainy morning? I picked up my mobile phone (something I am forbidden to step out without) and wrapped the scarf around my head. It must have been something about the way I did it. My son with a nod opened the door and went about his jog. I was stunned, that was easy, with my daughter it was always difficult. 

I opened the front door, to be welcomed by a cool waft carrying the heavenly smell. The smell of earth, the sound of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, all lit by the dim moonlight in the grey sky, signaled the coming of dawn. I closed my eyes, taking it all in one deep breath. I set out for my walk in the usual route. Today I walked alone, with just my black umbrella. The one gifted by my wife. Rainy days keep my friends away, they fear a slip. This umbrella is my only constant. 

Rains are very close to my heart. I came to this world on a rainy evening. My son was born, and my daughter was married during the monsoons. I let go of my beloved on a rainy day. It just seems yesterday, I walked this path, hand in hand with her under this umbrella. It’s been five years now; I still miss her, I miss the fights, I miss her food and I miss hugging her to sleep. I hope she is in her happy place. 

There is something about walking. The legs lead you one way, the mind totally another. The rhythmic movement of the legs takes you inward into places rarely seen and thought. You are there walking, yet you are lost, lost in thought... until the legs abruptly stop, having reached the familiar destination. Immersed in thoughts, I stopped and looked up to the familiar sight, the bench overlooking the lake. 

I stood there taking in the view. It was foggy and it started to drizzle. I sat down to catch my breath and opened my black umbrella. In the middle of the lake, surrounded by mountains, the haze cleared to the sight of a couple sitting on a boat. The cold, mist and rain did not seem to dampen their spirits.  Ah… I smiled despite myself. 

What it is to be young, 

What it is to be in so much love,

What it is to hold the hands of your beloved and just be... 

Wanting nothing more than to just be with each other…

Waiting together to experience life... 

I felt a warmth permeating into my being. I felt so happy to have lived a life of fulfilment and not regret. My last decade on this bench has been one with countless sunrises. Sometimes with my beloved, sometimes with my children, my grandchildren, my close relations and good friends. It has been my special place, my haven to live my gifted years of old age. Seeing a couple start their life here… I felt life has come a full circle. Looking at them, here, in the middle of the lake, I wonder…

I wonder what the future holds for them,

After the seasons change and the years roll by,

Much after the bench misses me,

I wonder if they would sit on it on a rainy day,

Gazing at the horizon, awaiting a new sunrise,

Cherishing, loving, looking forward to life,

Grateful, hopeful, happy…

Reminiscing… under their old black umbrella…