Rain....rain

Twas an evening of sharp showers. I was walking home with a fat bundle of papers and it started pouring. Home was a 5 minute walk, but I couldn't risk getting my papers wet. So I ran to a small cigarette-shop just at the mouth of my lane and stood there. I was the only girl there. Only girl, soaked and clutching a bundle of paper. I felt perfectly safe.
The rain wouldn't stop. After about ten minutes, I decided.....and started up my lane. People were running back and forth with bottles and laughing. I didn't run. I was aware that my enjoyment must be veiled. I couldn't show that I was loving the strands of hair on my wet cheeks, the way my clothes clung to me, the drops littering my lips. I wish I didn't have to move. But there is a demand that you shield yourself from rain. Movies invariably show rain as romantic and subtly sensual. And the heroine torn between shiedling herself and shyly ducking the hero's advances.

You know what? I came home and loved myself in the mirror. I danced around in my wetness just to see myself. I did not want to hide. I was completely, deeply in my body and watching it with pleasure. Tis true I wanted one particular witness....and I wouldn't have hidden even then.