Rain. Little drops of water. The crying of the clouds. The sweet, weird scent of mud that comes with rain. This is what makes children happy. What brings everything back to life. What refreshes the air. It’s rain.

I believe we are the unfortunate, us here in Karachi. The rain doesn’t think of us as deserving enough to fall down upon us frequently. Why is that so, I think often?

Rain in Karachi is just like that member of the family who lives abroad. Who comes to visit once in months, and who we miss like crazy, for whom we pray countless of times that they would just board the plane and come to us. And when they do come, we are awash with joy and excitement. Rain is just like that, don’t you think so?

When we see the sky changing from white to grey gradually, when we see the black clouds coming towards us from the distance, don’t we pray for them to cry on us? And when the blue of the sky is finally gone and the shower valve is opened, the tiny, cold drops fall down and we hear the happy cries of the children who all rush out of their homes and start dancing in the rain.

We look at the trees changing colours, as if someone has polished them. As the raindrops fall on the murky green leaves, the dust is washed off and out comes the beautiful, fresh green which refreshes the eyes. The flowers shine brighter and prettier too.

We see women looking from the windows, their hands outstretched, just watching the drops fall down from the sky and onto the palms of their hands. We see children bouncing up and down splattering water on their clothes and everywhere. The band of heat breaks. The sun vanishes for a few hours and everyone is happy once again.

Once the clouds have lightened their hearts, the rain stops. The skies clear, the sun comes out again, the sky appears bluer than ever before and our visitor goes back. And us? We bid them goodbye, thank them for the joyful visit. And then we start missing them and praying for them to come back once again.

Published in Dawn, Young World, September 7th, 2019