23 Mar 2014

Rain Dance

Sometimes when I'm on the bus and I see huge dark clouds rolling in the sky, I secretly wish it starts pouring.

The normal person would probably want the rain to hold on for a little while. Rain = slippery roads = slower, more cautious traffic movement = more time taken to get to the destination.

But I silently hope it rains. Not just because it brings heat relief.

Because that's when I get to watch the performance up close. Especially when I have a window seat.

The introduction is subtle. The glass gets lightly peppered with diagonal lines.

Then more lines appear. Barely more than a few scratches on the easel.

After a while, larger transparent spheres appear on the surface. More people on the bus start noticing the precipitation. The little balls cling on like decorative baubles, silently displaying miniature copy images of the world outside.

The rain gets heavier. More circles and blobs are sprinkled onto the windows, producing lots of visual noise.

Now the curtains come down. They don't signal the end of the performance, but rather a transition. Little streaks rush vertically over the window, melding with the baubles on their way towards the black rubber bottom.

More and more streaks flow. They distort colours and blur shapes, taking down more of the shiny orbs.

Eventually all the streaks merge, blanketing the window in a cool wet embrace. By this time I'm peering at - and through - an Impressionist-like painting, knowing what some things beyond the window were from hints of their altered semblance, and from scraps of memories of taking the same route on drier days.

Occasionally the performance includes extra effects. Dramatic flashes of light and booming drums add spices of excitement to the ongoing performance. At times the combination works. Sometimes I find that it's a tad overdone though, especially with not enough happening on the watery stage.

Of course the performance has to end eventually. Sometimes the performers leave on their own accord, gradually going off the stage as the curtains melt away, leaving behind abandoned spheroids and watery confetti on the window. Sometimes the performance gets cut off abruptly when the stage enters a sheltered area.

Nonetheless I usually leave the theatre a satisfied spectator. Makes the ride a little more interesting.

Problem is I can't always tell when the next performance is.