Waiting.

Wednesday was gloomy and it was already one past thirty, she left for a short seminar. I was waiting outside the seminar room jotting down a few lines.

A few minutes before the inception of the afternoon there was a torrential rainfall. It rained cats and dogs; water gushed down the drainage lines. Window panes were clouded. It was warm and damp, moist and gloomy. The temperature outside was high enough to vaporize almost every droplet from the wetted surfaces. A flock of unknown birds flew swiftly and perched on the slippery branches of shabby trees.

The rainfall ceased suddenly, and ultimately the day gave way to another bright time. Our life is nothing short of what these summer weather and sky give us, uncertainty! Yes, that's right. Uncertainty.

There I was, stationed on that steel chair with my hands caressing a long-standing wall; the wall that kept me away from the rather surrounding chill and humidity. Each drop of water fell off the shiny edges of the gutter and splashed against the steely surfaces of the drain. As the drizzling ebbed, a flock of birds started diving into the sky of clouds, merrily and swiftly. I was left gazing, fancied.

Moisture-laden wind're fresh and cool; brought gentle kisses and left. Neither should one wonder nor envy the agility of wind, for it is beyond past and future, beyond the very purpose of survival. I was still sitting and gazing, and brooding. I could lay my eyes upon an impressive architectural design, a well-built concrete standing solidly; perhaps designed by architects to last longer than what could remain after ages. I suddenly felt desolate and bereft. For making there's decaying; for joy there's sadness and for living there's this...loneliness.

 The gloomy weather and the taste of unripe mangoes were no better than a bitter companion. There was that longing, a hankering, a craving. I was waiting, all alone and at all costs, for her. And I craved to hold her hands, her hand with soft tiny, slender fingers. Well, she hasn't arrived yet. I touched my hands, and my fingers and gazed nowhere. Had I not seen her or touched her, I would have never known what I felt and knew how it felt. But at that moment in time, the waiting and the longing intrigued me to wait and desire.  Waiting is the thing that I abhorred the most. And that afternoon I could feel each second pass. Time seemed to cease. Hopes lost. But there was that 'longing', a sense of wanting in that waiting! I should wait, well at the least for a gentlewoman of my choice; a good dinner of treat.

I could hear melodies; smell the fragrance of water. I feared if it was all real or if I was just mysteriously hallucinating. Every note of sound each water droplet made on the rooftop; every rush of water vapor evaporating were fascinating. Could it be true this time I thought. At that moment in time. It was time for her to return and to appear. Right there, in front of me to ease off the anguish of waiting and gratify my very sense of longing for her.

And there she appeared, my prize for waiting. It took me up and down; high and low.