Last night, nature did a tandav. Lightning streaked across the sky, splitting it in the middle, maniacal in its ferocity, flashing and disappearing. The eyes had but a split second to register its dazzling brilliance, before it vanished. The roar of thunder followed it, reverberating, bouncing off the wet earth and the damp, hardened surfaces of concrete structures.
When the winds started blowing, raising the dust off the ground, stirring particles of earth lying in wait, their breath held for months, to embrace the force that would transport them to unknown lands, there was a heaving, an audible sigh, before they surrendered. They let themselves be carried, whirled about and twisted and turned, till they were settled on unfamiliar territory. How the winds wooed them, and how they danced and swayed, with not a care in the world, allowing themselves to be sashayed, making love to their abductor.
Soon, the scent of the earth permeated the air, every particle soaked to its core, emitting the joy of being bathed after months of being scorched by a merciless sun. It was both spectacular and awesome. As nature is. Nurturing and unpredictable. Mother Nature. A woman, who has given birth to millions of offspring, each so different from the other, entities held together by millions of invisible umbilical cords, diverse in character but united by their blood. Mother Nature, ever pregnant, with a fertility that is unmatched, unparalleled. Every day is her day, every moment, her moment. She lives it to the fullest, dressed to her teeth, flaunting her assets unabashedly, even those weathered by time and human abuse.
Red earth and pouring rain leave their unmistakable stamp on the mundane business of living. The house plunged into darkness, as there was a spontaneous outage of power, and the inverter struggled to keep it illuminated through dinner time. It kept the fans running but the refrigerator lost its cool. Slumber is a saviour. So, as Mother Nature unleashed her marvels outside, my pillow comforted me and I woke up to a cool morning, with the rain still lashing at my window, but the skies showing no trace of being sliced up repeatedly by unrelenting frenzied firebolts. Peaceful and whole, the clouds look down with pride.
A new day has dawned. It has infinite possibilities. I sip piping hot ginger tea and stare at nothing in particular, the steam rising to my nostrils gently. Soon, the newspapers will arrive. The chores will begin. A cuckoo calls. ‘Happy Mother’s Day,’ I greet her back. She’s an unusual mother. Adventurous. She lays her eggs in another’s nest. A crow caws in the distance. She knows that she has been conned into nurturing another’s child. But, there is love for the alien chicks in her heart. She is a mother, after all. Strange are the ways of mothers, much misunderstood and much blamed as they are. But, warm, giving, loving, nevertheless. It takes all types to make the world that much more interesting.
Happy Mothers’ Day!