Jogging on a rainy evening

Jogging in the fading light of the dusk with the drizzle drenching my T shirt more than my sweat, I was actually feeling ecstatic. It was the first time I remember in my short lived memory when I had not taken my i pod and the humming of insects mixed with the croaking of stray frogs and the splatter of rain was playing the role of a joint of fine hash. I was intoxicated and though my legs were aching and my chest burning, I yearned to go a while longer, till I could fall facedown in the rainy puddle and feel triumphant.

It was a long while, more than two months since I ran last and the surge of breathlessness as my muscles secreted more lactic acid was overwhelming. I wondered why did I ever give up on running? Wasn't it one of the few acts in the day which made me feel alive, which granted a somewhat subtle meaning to this soporific life of mine? My mind was riddling with such many thoughts as I gazed around to see the brilliant green of the trees washed of dust. It felt as though my eyesight had improved and my specs. fogged by the rain was only an unnecessary accessory much like the appendix which is there but which I do not feel any need for.

I tried running on the road as the pavement beside was slushed and it would stain my brilliant white sneakers. But Hell!!!! Who cares? Am not here modelling for Dolce and Gabanna or doin an Akshay Kumar act for the Levis. I remembered Fightclub and how Brad Pitt says to Edward Norton of the false notions of a perfect man and how we readily believe what the brands have to speak for us. I jumped in the mud splashing it around, waiting for it to skid underneath my feet and lure me forward for a skateboard ride. I was a kid again - intrepid and impetuous and was loving every bit of it.

My tired legs slammed against the earth with a thud of the dead and it felt as though am a Frankenstein struck by the thunder that fused a life in me I had long forgotten. The rhythmic tap-tap of my shoes felt like rains on a cold grave and me the resident of that coffin. I was a dead man injected with a yearning and a wail.

As my breath choked me and my stomach gave a cry of the cramps, I stopped and walked. I didn't care to wipe the sweat on my forehead and back of neck. It was one with the rain. The rain was also salty. I broke into a brisk pace so that I could hold a little more on the last sips from the goblet. I was happy and after a much long time felt alive and meaningful.