The Weight of Water

There is a particular silence that arrives with heavy rain. It is not the absence of sound, but a curtain drawn between the world and the self. In the city, the water turns the pavement into a mirror, reflecting things we usually step over without looking. We walk with our heads down, shoulders hunched against the cold, trying to remain dry in a world that insists on saturation. We are fragile creatures, really. We build walls and carry umbrellas, yet we are constantly shaped by the elements we try to avoid. To stand still while the rest of the world rushes toward shelter is a rare act of defiance. It is in the damp air that we finally hear the rhythm of our own breathing, steady and rhythmic, matching the fall of the drops. When the sky opens, does it wash away the dust, or does it only make the ground heavier, harder to leave behind?

Tathagata Das has captured this stillness in his work titled Rainy Day. It reminds me that even in the middle of a crowd, one can be entirely alone with the rain. Do you find comfort in the downpour?