“I love walking in the rain, 'cause then no-one knows I'm crying.”

It's about noon. The skies outside are absolutely overcast. When I stepped out, the skies were grey, but not dark. A few steps down the line, I felt the first drop roll down my cheek. By the time i was on my way to work, it was pouring, albeit in spurts. A sudden massive shower, with itinerant sprinklings. Luckily, or, perhaps unluckily, I did not get wet.

As I left home this morning, I was fuming within. I got irritated with my mother's behaviour. She has this tendency of constantly acting the martyr nowadays. Granted, she is right about the enormity of the responsibilities she has to shoulder, and I am not saying its easy. Yet, to suddenly,  out of the blue, bring it up in the most irrelevant of situations is nothing short of uncalled-for martyrdom.

We had a slight spar. I got utterly irritated with the whole thing, and stormed out. The last thing one requires is to go out of one's home with an overcast mind.

Things have not been easy of late. Problem after problem is surfacing with such alarming regularity, that we might as well start writing on our schedulers- "labour for the day...". The smallest things, somehow, are becoming Herculean in proportion. Is it a phase? Is it fate? When will it bide over? By the time we are finished with this, we might be finished with each other.

Shall we have patience to pull us through this? We realise where we are going wrong, yet abandon ourselves down the path leading us to unleash wanton fury where it is ill-deserved. There has to be an outlet for everything, but acid wears away what it stays in, as well as what it lands on.

Inflicting pain has become a habit- on ourselves, as well as on others. Yet, to preserve sanity, we smile, we smile where there is no joy, no happiness, nothing. We smile because there is hope, there is hope that we will not lead ourselves down the path of self-destruction. 

Surrounded by people, yet so alone at times. I feel for my mother. She is quite alone. Few friends, fewer relatives. It cannot be easy to just let go of all that is familiar to you, all that has been the way, your home, your life, your past. Yes, it is your past, the memories of the happier times, which, in a strange way, is both a harbinger of hope, as well as the shove towards sadness. Of not being able to recreate them again. In any form.

Today, though overcast, is cool, is quenching the parched earth, is a relief from the heat. Mother called. She was trying to smile on the other side.

I need patience. I have unleashed. I have hope. I, too, smile.