Of romancing the rain and reflecting the pain
The thick blanket of snow enveloping the capital on Thursday was a magnificent spectacle, so much like icing on the cake.
There are few capitals in the world, which look as serene and a picture of heartfelt joy as Islamabad when it pours. The scenic mountain backdrop and the vast greenbelt (admittedly, disappearing into a fast concrete belt, of late) are a sight for sore eyes.
When it rains by the buckets, Islamabad is heavenly, pure and simple.
To continue the sublime journey of what it is like when the capital gets a shower, the atmosphere is thick with romance — it begs to be partaken. If there is one place in Pakistan, which merits a long drive under the weather (that can be taken to mean literally — since it is not always easy to negotiate and get past puddles of water at the bends), it has to be the picturesque seat of the federation.
What a joy, if you also have a good music system to go with a car that will not break down just because the skies have! Am sure everyone has his or her own favourite rain music — ranging from the classical ragas to heavy metal and all between them. But how many can seriously supersede the childhood memories that ghazal maestro Jagjit Singh evokes in discerning how rain played on our minds then?
Let’s take a verse — for better, not worse:
Ye daulat bhi le lo, ye shohrat bhi le lo
Bhale cheen lo
mujh se meri javaani
Magar mujh ko lauta do
bachpan ka saavan Vo kaaghaz ki kashti,
vo baarish ka paani
(Take away this wealth, take this fame, too
Snatch away my youth, if you will
But return to me, the monsoon of childhood,
The paper boat, that water of the rain)
It would be a misfortune not to listen to the rain song played out in the vast expanse of Islamabad (let’s forget, for a moment, the irritating under construction underpasses and flyovers).
When it pours, the scenic capital will likely seize the senses — unless mind-over-matter trivialises the issue. For the pedestrian, such delight comes like Nature’s free ticket to bliss.
And for those, who have graduated from school/college/university to practical life, the longing to experience the wet world outside (long drive, great company, good music, hot food — you get the drift) during work hours is near- palpable. Many would argue it is an equation that does not necessarily fit the winter bill given the accompanying chill, but then, which romantic ever cared for the seasons!
With the wanting however, must come the haunting: rain brings melancholy aplenty for those, who have taken the beaten track. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow gives them voice in his poem The Rainy Day. A couple of verses:
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the moldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
So is rain all gain and no pain in the twin cities?
One runs the risk of being lynched, if rain merely sounds like music to the ears. Any number will reach out to break free of the “fantasy” and deem a downpour every bit the menace a childhood rhyme entitled Rain, Rain Go Away entailed. It had variants such as:
Rain, rain go to Spain,
Never show your face again
Whilst on the theme, one could always trust late Parveen Shakir, a poet, who made Islamabad her home, to draw the meanderings of the rainy heart:
Baarish hui tau phoolon kay tan chaak ho gaye
Mausam ke haath bheeg kay saffaak ho gaye
Baadal ko kya khabar ke baarish ki chaah main
Kitne buland-o-baalaa shajar khaak ho gaye
(With the rain have the flower buds blossomed,
Wet at weather’s hands, they have come into their own,
Know not the clouds that in the desire for rain
Have trees, high and mighty, fallen to the ground)
Heavy rain can put the skids on movement, both literally and figuratively. And not just because of uprooted trees. Where Islamabad holds up well, save for few locations where drainage does not quite match the rest of the planned capital, Rawalpindi is easily entrapped — almost as if the ancient city had sins to wash.
A true reflection of this is the unleashing of the cats-and- dogs variety, leading to choked gutters and overflowing drains. Lying low in Pindi does not quite help as is evident in the deluge that thunders down low lying areas like Leh.
In short, they would rather have the sun streaming down like there was no tomorrow. Oh, the pleasure and the pain of the rain!
The writer is News Editor at Dawn News. He may be contacted at kaamyabi@gmail.com