Child sexual abuse: On the rains

Oh, what relief the rains can bring! One can almost feel the palpable gratitude of the rainforest tree outside my first floor balcony: how its millions of tiny leaves dance ever so slightly in response to the beatings of the rains.

I hadn't realised before how this tree must be revered in my Bengali neighbourhood. There is a vermillion scarf fringed with gold tassels wrapped around the tree like a talisman.

On my balcony floor, the bougainvillea leaves look beaten by the weight of the falling rain. They droop to the floor, their pink flowers with their fuchsia centres pointing down as well.

Also read - Why Mumbai rains make me nostalgic

It has been just 20 minutes since the downpour, but already the street is well nigh impassable for the pedestrian. Muddy brown flows, small rivers almost, flowing downhill.

Two young men - drenched to the bone - saunter past jauntily in their slippers. The rain is welcome after such a long, dry, irritable summer.

I pull up my dining room chair as close as possible to the balcony to try and see more.

Back home in the far east where I am from, there would be a great slamming of windows and balcony doors as everyone hurries to take in their washing before they get soaked by the rain. But here, they let things be.

On the street below, an umbrella-clutching mother in a lavender kurta pyjama tries to reason with her argumentative sons on bicycles. They walk away and their bickering with them.

I am transfixed by the sheer green of the rainforest tree. There are no flowers yet - it is not the time - but the leaves, glistening with thousands of rain droplets are a sight to behold.

Also read - Look at the world just after rain

The road is now passable again. The muddy water has drained away. A woman in a purple sari, valiantly covering her head, scurries quickly past.

I think back on my life here thus far: whether I have healed sufficiently, whether or not I love myself enough.

I wish I was not a survivor, I wish I had had a different childhood but this was not to be.

But I think it is time to move on. I have spent enough time in this country.

And it has given me enough life lessons. One of which is: to welcome the rains, for the rainbows that will come after.

Read part 25 here.

Read part 24 here.

Read part 23 here.

Read part 22 here.

Read part 21 here.

Read part 20 here.

Read part 19 here.

Read part 18 here.

Read part 17 here.

Read part 16 here.

Read part 15 here.

Read part 14 here.

Read part 13 here.

Read part 12 here.

Read part 11 here.

Read part ten here.

Read part nine here.

Read part eight here.

Read part seven here.

Read part six here.

Read part five here.

Read part four here.

Read part three here.

Read part two here.

Read part one here.