This, my friend, is the story of an evening. And evening when it rained. Pitter-patter pitter-patter. On the roofs, on the roads, on the cars, on the umbrellas and even on the heads of those who were attempting a frog kiss.
Yup, there were two souls, romantic to the core, who wanted to imitate the frogs and kiss in the rains. And so they did; one a deserted terrace. ‘Coz who would want to be on the terrace on such an evening? Not even the clothes that usually hung out with the nylon rope. No, the role was hanging out on his own. Feeling lonely. But not those two souls.
The she-soul was dressed in a pink frock. Ah! How cute, one would say. And the he-soul wore a blue shirt. Yes, that’s all there is. All other details were washed away in the rains.
So this was the time when it rained pitter-patter pitter-patter. I was right by my window, working on some thoughts when I saw the two souls. I could see. ‘Coz my building was high and my room overlooked the terrace of this stunted building where the two souls stood.
I saw them drawing near. Hands outstretched. Wet arms. Dripping fingernails. They held hands. And the hands melted in each other. Usually, happens in love. Their faces drew near. It was just a curtain of raindrops separating them. The he-soul parted his lips, ever so slightly. The she-soul followed suit. They drew closer. The curtain of raindrops was about to be shredded, shredded by the sheer power of passion.
Their noses touched. Cold and wet noses. But they must’ve not noticed. These insignificant details don’t matter much when in rain; more so when in passion. Their noses touched. Dented each other. But that didn’t stop the two souls from coming closer.
Here, my nose was pressed on the glass of my window pane. Pressed flat against the hard, cold glass. I felt it, clearly. ‘Coz there was no rain, no passion. But I didn’t mind. One never does, usually when about to witness a frog kiss right on the terrace across.
The curtain of rain drops was shredded, noses were dented and the lips… well, the lips signified the most beautiful moment anticipation had ever witnessed. Parted, ever so slightly. Closer they drew, a tad bit more closer.
My nose was beginning to ache. But my eyes stayed glued on those lips. The lips, well, grew closer, and then close enough when – blink – lightening! All gone! No lips, no noses and no souls.
The terrace was empty. I blinked, once and twice, but only in vain and hope of mending what my ‘blink’ had ruined. The frog kiss might get completed. I blinked. And then I saw them.
The Pink Frock and the Blue Shirt, hanging out with the nylon rope. The rope wasn’t alone, after all. I was, perhaps.
__END__
