Couple of weeks back our entire team had been to Sai Farms at Kolad. We set off early morning and sometime around noon reached Kolad only to find that the bus wouldn’t be able to enter the narrow passage lading to Sai Farms. So we had no other option but to walk it up for a kilometer or so. I dreaded the walk as it was raining and our bags and its contents were sure to get wet. To top it I hated getting wet and trekking. Nevertheless there was no other option and we trooped out; some eagerly and some (like me) grudgingly.
While walking I remembered the various exercises Pat would make us write. One of them being to observe the sights and sounds around you. Putting my “observational” skills to use, I decided to tune in to nature. The entire place was green right till where my eyes could reach. The natural path formed from daily travelling of people and cattle and strewn with gravel and pebbles stretched far like a serpent. Dotted with plants, shrubs, bushes and trees, the image was one of lush fertile greenery. Due to rains, water had collected in places forming small pools. Ahead of us the hills loomed large in all their emerald glory with their peaks enveloped in dense mist. It seemed straight out of a Mani Ratnam movie, only difference being I was aware that this was all too real. The rains had washed the dust off the leaves unearthing various hues of green and bright yellow. The soil let off a natural fragrance as though these were the the first rains. A heady mix it was as the drops fell on your parched lips, the melody of the sheets of water filling your ears, the fragrant soil tickling your nostrils and the flora strutting its stuff in a rainbow of colours letting your eyes drink in their beauty.
The skies had opened up generously and the rain kept coming down in a steady stream creating an orchestra of sorts as it fell on trees, rocks, roofs and the puddles. The colourless water blended into the surrounding like a chameleon; turning brown when mixed with mud, green as it formed pearls on leaves. The few crows that were flying around cawed pitiably as they too were drenched from head to claw; their silky greyish black feathers ruffled to give then an ‘out of the nest’ look. Our rooms faced the Kundalika river, a majestic river flanked by dense foliage on either sides, the silt and soil in her womb giving her a muddy brown colour. She flowed calmly pregnant with all the water from various tributaries as well as the rain. But we knew that beneath her calm exterior was a restlessness that was growing by the minute. The life giving Kundalika was also capable of taking lives if one did not pay heed to the strong currents that were masked by her serenity.
The steady stream of rain seemed music to my ears, almost welcome from the sounds horns blaring any time of the day, the dip in temperature was natural as against the artificial cooling of an air conditioner. At that moment I realised how in cities most of us consider rains to be a nuisance. As a kid I always thought, “why did it have to rain everywhere?”, “why couldn’t it rain only above rivers, wells, lakes and other water bodies suppling drinking water?”, “why does it have to rain above the sea and gutters and roads when that water is obviously going to waste?”. I know now that it is not the rain that wastes itself but us who do not capitalise on this natural resource. How much would it take for the municipal corporations to encourage water harvesting so that the city does not face water crunch? People in dry states view us enviously while we let all of this elixir of life go waste. Have we actually reached the point of no return? If we do not act now it will be too late. Like they say, “you realise the worth of something only when you cease to have it.” We owe this much to our future generations.
I remember a marathi poem that went like this:
“ye re ye re pavasa, tula deto paisa
paisa zhaala khota, paus aala motha.
paus padto jhim jhim jhim, angan zhale ole chim
paus padto musaldhaar, raan zhaale hirvegaar.
ye ga ye ga sari, maazhe madke bhari
sar aali dhavoon, madke gele vahoon.”
no shades of grey 
