Suffering and the rain that follows.

There is suffering which one can blame others for. And then there is the waiting for rain. Every day I would travel to college in the abominable heat and look at the faces of the people around me. Everyone suffered, in frustration. No one could do anything about the elusive rain.
When we suffer, we find solace through blame. It is almost cathartic. One scapegoat and the crisis seems to be bearable.
Who do you blame for the lack of rain? God? The government? The UN? Mute suffering is hard to endure, in oneself or in others. Even children stopped crying in the hellish heat. Perhaps something in their gullible minds told them that this was one problem that neither Ma nor Baba could ever solve. Grim faces were struggling to cope with the crushing pressures of making ends meet. Faces lacked the freshness that one sees in the morning. There was no anticipation which comes with a new day, nor the hope. All I could see on the face of the man next to me, was a nameless dread.
Yet amidst all that suffering , a spark of hope still lurked. At the slightest breath of wind, faces turned to the sky. Every cloud brought a smile. For once, one longed for the cloud without the silver lining.
I remember the first rain of this season. The moment the first drops fell, I could hear a simultaneous cheer resonate across the streets. For once people were not as eager to seek the nearest shelter as they usually are.
And then, Nature graciously obliged.