Happiness Rains

Paper boats racing down the storm drain with four kids cheering them on sheltered from the lightning and the pouring rain by a tin roof.

Returning home soaking wet after winning a football match we should have lost since we were playing with most of the regulars banned for poor academic performance.

Continuing the Founder's display as the lights blew, one by one, in the summer storm.

Riding an auto through the gates of a green Pune University through the drizzle of the monsoon.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere in a downpour with darkness upon us, singing.

Sprinting up to Cheena Peak in a drizzle stopping only to pull leeches off our ankles.

Spending an hour in a village home not understanding a word of the conversation, invited in from the pouring rain.

Wandering through the Himachal hills, splashing each other by jumping in the puddles, not wanting to get home.

Discarding umbrellas and walking barefoot through paddy fields looking for frogs and mushrooms.

Scrambling for higher ground in the middle of the night as the swollen Alaknanda washed the sand away from under our tents.

Is it any wonder that I love the rain so?

Mamta, Mamta and Mamta

Mamta, my very sharp-witted and equally sharp-tongued travelling companion. The provider of much entertainment through the entire trip.
Mamta, the girl that put the beauty of the Himalayas in the shade with her smile. Halfway through the first day of the trek, we stopped close to a village for lunch. There was a bunch of kids playing there with a carefree joy that made me wish with all my heart that I was one of them. They politely and discreetly kept their distance while we ate and then shyly answered our questions about their village and their lives. She was one of these kids.
Mamta, the girl that held a stranger's hand for protection from a darkness far more familiar to her. I was the first one to get to the camping site on the last evening out on the trail, and I was greeted by the kids of the village of Brrlay. "घूमने आए हैं", they told me and spoke to me about school and goatherds and black bears lurking in the darkness. They then asked me to take them home. I must have looked much like the Pied Piper with a bunch of happily dancing kids walking off into the darkness. Mamta held my hand the whole way home. One of the kids also offered to drop me back to the campsite! She was back the next morning to say goodbye to us.
Mamta, the thread that ran through my Himachali trek.