Perhaps when I grow old, it is moments of insanity that I will want to remember the most. What would human life be without memories? And how would I be the 'me' I am without those insane, utterly inexplicable moments of sheer spontaneity?
After my rain soaked memories the day before, it rained again last evening. Very heavily, causing much destruction in the city. But that part is for the papers to blow up.
As for me, I was at Jay's, where we were supposed to do some 'work'. (I'm trying to convince myself that the afternoon was productive too!) Just when we were about to plan to go out, it started raining, one of those slow rains that build up tempo and end up as a crescendo, the exact kind that I love. Three of us girls stood on the balcony staring out at the blowing winds and the lashing rain. A sudden storm, of the brain kind, and in minutes we were in the park outside her house, walking and half running in the rain.
Just then, the rain reached its crescendo and we broke into giggles. Yes, all 20-something, supposedly mature, working women that we were, lost all decorum in the utter joy of being there at that moment and giggled uncontrollably. The neighbours thought we were mad, of course; not that we were anything less!
We did get lectured by other jealous friends that we had lost it and that trees could have fallen on us and all that adult talk. Ma listened to me breathlessly narrate the madness, peppered again with giggles that wouldn't stop and just said a "hmm, change into something dry," in that tone of again-you-and-your-insanity-are-beyond-repair! :-)
I hadn't done this getting wet in years! Probably not after high school, and I don't want to think how long ago that was! The utter uninhibited manner of being young and being free and with other giggling girls makes for my third favourite thing now, about the rain. Made me realize too, we get so caught up in the business of life that we forget to practice constantly the art of actually living it.
Reminds me yet again of what a friend and fellow blogger wrote:
What is the point in living if the highest thing at stake, life itself, is not risked? I have risked it many times, and my mother doesn't like me for that.
No, I am not down with fever or even an inkling of a cold. And yes, I can't wait to do this again, maybe not in the city, but in other, more insane forms, perhaps!?