An Umbrella and a Tune!

The rain was unrelenting; the way monsoon often was in Kerala. The rhythm of rain on the rooftops remained a permanent soundtrack to your day for months. You loved the falling sheet of water from the relatively dry balconies, but the whole monsoon experience was quickly sullied by the logistics of getting to class semi dry or learning to skirt the deceptively deep puddles on the side of the road.
The memory of the damp pants, the never dry socks and the urge to hold up your open palm outside the safety of your umbrella, stayed fresh, long after the rains had disappeared.

Rain often snatched the steps of the college amphitheater and foots of trees from being the stage for lovers’ conversations. The stranded pairs had to make do with the stolen words in crowded corridors or with notes passed noiselessly during class.
For some, the falling rain turned into an excuse to share an umbrella. It was under one such shared umbrella that he first hummed that tune to her. She only half listened, concentrating instead on the heat of their touching forearms. This heat would remain with her the rest of the evening and long into the night. She would toss and turn in the night, remembering that fleeting sensation. The tune that he hummed, did not register until after he had left, after walking her to the hostel. That night, as the shared heat lay forgotten, haunting tune kept her awake.

When she met him after class the next morning, she pressed him about the tune under the umbrella. He feigned ignorance. There was no such tune, he told her amusedly. Her persistence combined with the dramatic and impossible threats of never speaking to him again, had him hum that tune for her again. It had no words yet, but words were perfunctory. At that moment in that silent corner of the corridor, in the presence of that magical tune, she fell irrevocably in love with him.

Some of her memories wantonly slipped into oblivion through the leaky walls of the box where they lived, never to be seen again. But other memories, they lay quietly in a quiet corner of that box refusing to leave; sometimes needing only the slightest nudge to bring them back to life. The memory of their walks, sharing an umbrella and so much more, was the kind that had refused to leave the leaky walled box.

She heard that tune once again, years later, on a summer night when her husband sat working on the sofa. She was in the kitchen, minding the stove that held the boiling results of a dinner thoughtlessly put together. The TV, the soundtrack of their marriage, stood forgotten watching the sofa. When she heard the tune play on the tv, she gazed instinctively out the kitchen window, expecting rain to blur the sights outside.
She walked out of the kitchen, remembering first to save the dinner from the flames that were plotting a ruin. The tv continued to sing the tune which brought with it a flood of memories and a hot rush of tears that threatened to spill everything. She sat on the sofa quietly, scheming to protect her unknowing husband from the aftermath of her cowardice.
The lady on the tv gushed about the movie, soon to be at your nearest cinemas, that had the most wonderful songs. The songs she promised, composed by this new music director, added color to the faded and overused stories that passed for screenplays these days. Her inane monologue thankfully changed to yet another verse of that tune.

He had chosen the words to her tune well. The tune sang about love, one that had blossomed when fed by the rains. The singer sang the words with the bewilderment of one who could not believe the beauty of the romance that had chanced on him. The song ended with the joy of reciprocated love and the hope of a life together. There was no mention of what came next.
The song had ended but it continued to ring in her ears, exactly like the first time she had heard it, under that umbrella. The tune that had been a monument to the love she had been sure she could not survive without, mocked her now. That tune had revealed a love that had been all consuming. But it had chosen to hide so many things from her. That tune had failed to prepare her for the harsh reality that followed the beautiful start of love. It chose to stay quiet about the pain of saying goodbye to him when the gates of the college closed behind them one last time. The tune had masked the hurt and disappointment in her father’s eyes when she explained why she could not marry the man he had chosen for her.

She flinched now, remembering the betrayal shining in eyes of the man she wanted to call her own, when she told that her family mattered more than his love and his tunes.
So she became the wife of another man and excelled at it without a complaint. She endured the seasons of the year, slowly erasing the taste of regret that every monsoon brought with it. Every year she pushed yet another memory out of her consciousness and another conversation with him ceased to exist for her. She now made new memories to fill that box with leaky walls. She learnt to live, noiselessly chafing at the chains her life had wrapped around her. But now, this memory that bubbled up to the surface shook her. She remembered the heat of his skin and shivered. Her husband, working and lost to the faceless clients on the other side of the world, knew nothing of her soundless turmoil.

Next morning, the rain was a blessing from the heat. She woke her husband, shocking him with an ask so foreign that he could not deny her. A tune flitted out of a parked car as they walked. She chose not to hear it. She listened instead to the lilt in the voice of her husband as he talked about nothing at all. She listened to the splash of the puddles as they decided to test their depth. She squirrelled away the music of her daughter’s laughter as she ran ahead, holding up her little palm up to the sky.
Today, she would choose to let an old tune and its memory disappear through the leaky walls. Today, she would walk with her family, not caring about a destination; sharing everything and an umbrella making a new memory that would last a lifetime.

 

Thank you sooo much Pallavi. this story was kind of influenced by a malayalam song i could not stop listening to. I am so happy you liked it !!

 

Thank you Shanti glad you enjoyed it.

 

Thank you so much!!!

Actually, i wrote this because i had a song in my mind that refused to leave. Its a malayalam song tho and not really famous. Its in a movie called pattom pole, the song is named "Mazhaye tho mazhaye".
I am so glad this story did not remind you of anything unhappy

 

awww angel..hugs!! thank you so much for liking my story. It makes me so happy when you tell me it touched you!!