# Childhood Mischief on Rainy Days #

stormy memory from my childhood.

Today’s gusty winds and relentless rain have us all feeling a little uneasy. In Bengal, we were on high alert yesterday for Cyclone Dana, with warnings from every corner.

Thankfully, the cyclone took a turn, sparing us from its full force. But ever since this morning, the rain has been pouring down.

Sitting in my portico, sipping tea, and listening to the rhythmic drumming of the rain, I found myself slipping back in time to a cherished, stormy memory from my childhood.

Rainy days used to mean pure adventure, especially with friends and, occasionally, a bit of mischief thrown in.

I recall one particularly fun (and slightly reckless) rainy-day escapade involving my childhood gang and our grumpy neighbor, whom we affectionately dubbed “Mishra Ji.”

He had the best-kept garden in our neighborhood, which housed the most tantalizing papaya and guava trees. For us kids, that garden was nothing short of paradise!

Unfortunately, Mishra Ji’s generosity was inversely proportional to the abundance of his trees. He never offered his fruits to us, referring to our little gang as “troublemakers” and “study-phobic brats.”

Living in Khagaul, a sleepy little town, we found our entertainment in simple joys: climbing trees, playing pranks, and devising ways to raid Mishra Ji’s garden.

Mishra Ji was not just a guardian of his prized fruits; he also kept a strict eye on his only daughter, Sita.

We were all fond of Sita, who was our age and quite friendly, even sneaking us fruits whenever she could. She’d smuggle a few ripe guavas or papayas for us, though under strict surveillance from her father.

Still, every time I walked past his house, my eyes were on two things: the guavas hanging from the trees and the chance to catch Sita’s eye.

Our “notorious gang” of friends was always up to something. Mischief was like a badge of honor for us.

One rainy day, my friends and I were fishing by the pond with a makeshift rod. Suddenly, it started raining, and we caught nothing but cold splashes of water.

Yes, the skies opened up, and we were caught in a downpour. We scrambled for cover under the nearby electricity office’s porch, laughing and dripping from head to toe. That’s when Raju, our self-appointed “ringleader,” had a spark of Idea.

“Why not raid Mishra Ji’s garden? With all this rain, he’s bound to stay indoors, right?” Raju’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

Our wet and slightly crazed minds jumped at the idea. Rain was pouring down hard, and surely, even Mishra Ji wouldn’t bother stepping outside in this weather.

So, like stealthy ninjas (or so we thought), we crept into his garden, hearts pounding, ready for the taste of forbidden fruit.

We climbed the guava trees, plucking the juiciest ones as the rain continued to fall, feeling a strange blend of exhilaration and dread.

The fruits were even sweeter, perhaps thanks to the thrill of “liberating” them from Mishra Ji’s clutches.

But our luck ran out pretty quickly. Just as I reached for another guava, a familiar voice thundered from the verandah.

Mishra Ji had spotted us and was yelling curses that somehow drowned out even the noise of the rain. His voice shook the entire garden, and we froze, halfway up the tree.

But then, remembering the rain barrier between us and him, we gave him a cheeky grin and continued our plucking, pretending not to hear him. We knew there was no way he’d brave the downpour to come after us.

Suddenly, he dashed inside, and we heard a flurry of activity. Our hearts skipped a beat. Moments later, Sita appeared below the tree, braving the rain, her face a mixture of panic and amusement.

“Bhola! Get down quickly!” she cried. “Father’s letting Jhabru loose!”

Jhabru was no ordinary dog. He was Mishra Ji’s hulking Alsatian—a beast we feared far more than any scolding or punishment.

Jhabru was the ultimate enforcer of Mishra Ji’s wrath, and we had no intention of facing him. At Sita’s warning, I scrambled down from the tree faster than I’d ever moved in my life.

My landing was less than graceful, and a sharp pain shot through my ankle, but adrenaline took over as I bolted, ignoring the throbbing pain.

Behind me, I could hear the bark of freedom—Jhabru, unleashed and ready for action.

Reaching the gate, I turned for one last glance. There was Sita, soaked to the bone, watching us with a triumphant smile as we made our hasty exit.

Her expression held a hint of victory, as though she’d just won a little rebellion of her own. The rain poured down around her, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Once I reached the safety of the street, my heart still racing, I imagined Sita’s predicament. I had escaped Mishra Ji’s wrath and the potential of 14 rabies shots, which we all dreaded more than any punishment.

But poor Sita! She was bound to face some kind of reckoning with her father. Knowing Mishra Ji, I figured he wouldn’t subject her to rabies shots, but a round of lectures and possibly some painkillers would likely be in store.

Looking back on that day, I realize that it wasn’t just about the rain or the guavas. It was about the thrill of childhood mischief, the shared laughter with friends, and that small act of rebellion that felt like the biggest adventure in the world.

It was about the kindness in Sita’s eyes, and her willingness to go against her father’s wishes to sneak us a bit of happiness.

As I sit here today, watching the rain and reminiscing, I can’t help but smile at the memory. Those rainy days taught us more than just how to climb trees or run from dogs.

They taught us the value of friendship, courage, and the little acts of kindness that sometimes defy the rules.

Today’s storm might have brought back some unsettling memories, but it also stirred up a time when every rain shower promised a new adventure and a story worth telling.

Ah, those were the days—simple, daring, and filled with the sweet taste of stolen guavas.

BE HAPPY….BE ACTIVE….BE FOCUSED….BE ALIVE…

If you liked the post, please show your support by liking it,

following, sharing, and commenting.

Sure! Visit my website for more content. Click here

 www.retiredkalam.com



Categories: ##Memoire, story

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

8 replies

    • Bachpan ke kisse hamesha dil ke kareeb hote hain 🩷!
      Un dinon ki baatein, woh masoom shaitaniyaan, aur bina kisi tension ke guzra waqt—sab kuch ek sapne ki tarah lagta hai. Aapka kissa sun kar lagta hai jaise woh purani yaadein phir se jee uthi ho.

      Liked by 2 people

  1. A fun memory from childhood.

    Liked by 3 people

    • Childhood memories truly hold a special place in our hearts, don’t they?
      The story brings back the sheer joy of those carefree days filled with mischief, laughter, and innocence. There’s something magical about rainy-day adventures, the thrill of sneaking around, and the camaraderie of friends united by mischief.💕

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Many childhood memories stay in our mind and remind us the essence.However You have made it beautifully with your pen which we read.

    Liked by 2 people

Leave a reply to vermavkv Cancel reply