Water

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Water

It rained the night that I was born. It poured, it thundered, the sky was merciless and the streets were flowing rivers.

I was born premature, like the early monsoon. There were no incubators in the nursing home, and there was no way to keep me alive without one. No car could be driven on the streets. Some people made rafts, my mother said, but what raft could be given direction in flowing water?

The roof began to leak. The slow monotonous dripping of water was a lullaby to my ears, but it stirred panic within everyone else. The water had found a way in, and if it didn’t stop, it wouldn’t be much time until my bean-sized lungs perished.

My parents prayed for the clouds to get drained. The rain stopped when I was three hours old and spared my life that night.  The water that flooded the streets went on to unite with the sea.

The angry raindrops on the night of my birth made a twenty-five year old woman evolve into a mother, a protector.

*          *          *

I grew up to love water. I would sit on the windowsill of my room and put my ear to the glass to hear the sounds of the roaring water that dragonflies carried on their wings, the sounds that the wind carried despite their body-less element.

I would float in the sea, letting the waves give me direction. I would swim underwater with my eyes open till they stung. I would stare into my red and black eyes, watch them water, and blink to feel the warm tears escape.

Like siblings – we loved and we hated, we hurt and we healed and we came together and we parted.

*          *          *

I wonder if the water will take back what it spared that night. I wonder if it’ll make me happy that my eyes won’t burn and my body won’t wrinkle.

I wonder if it’ll rain the day I die.

I wonder if I’ll fight when it swallows me.

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