It was close to midnight. It had been a rather good but long day at work. And it was a day before Holi – a mid-week holiday to do a few things at my own pace: sip tea, eat breakfast, read and savour a few pages of the 3-4 books I routinely dip into. I was mentally planning all this, when I decided to unwind. Thought I’d take a longer route home to savour the solitude of a road. I decided to drive through Powai, instead of Asalpha.
As I turned towards Powai lake, a beautiful piece of music started playing on the radio. An instrumental piece. Piano.
I slowed the car a bit to enjoy the drive. The roads, at that hour, were reasonably empty. The lake was placid and dark. And the buildings in Hiranandani stood like quiet towers – like palaces of a fairyland that’s gone to sleep. Suddenly, there were a few drops of rain on my windshield, a strong rustle of wind, and flashes of lightning. Intermittently, the lake on one side and the buildings on the other shone blue and silver. The roads and hill-tops gleamed. And even though I was on the longer route home, I wished I lived farther away that night.
The piano music had ended, and one of my favourite songs came on, ‘Strangers in the night.’ I thought how apt the song was – to describe a dialogue between unexpected rain and unsuspecting earth. Strangers in the night, exchanging glances, wondering in the night, what were the chances, we’d be sharing love before the night was through; Something in your eyes was so inviting, something in your smile was so exciting, something in my heart, Told me I must have you…
The rain gods must listen to Sinatra.