A Rainbow in Their Cloud

[This reflection was originally written in June 2026.]

June 21 is my daughter’s birthday. In 1993, we saw the rainbow for the first time in early morning. 

This year, it will not arrive as it used to. It will be her first birthday in her absence. My wife and I are still carrying the heaviness of her passing last August. We first thought of calling relatives home for a remembrance. But somehow that did not feel right. Grief cannot always be honoured by gathering people around it. Sometimes it asks to be carried outward.

We thought of distributing sweets to children in a nearby government school. But June 21 falls on a Sunday, and the school would be closed. Giving it on Monday did not feel the same. Then we thought of an orphanage.

There are about sixty children there, from Class 1 to Class 10. They would all be there on Sunday. My wife wanted to give them dresses. She had recently started a small home-based dress-making workshop in our daughter’s memory. Since the children were of different ages, our tailor went to take their measurements.

When he returned, he said around 150 to 160 metres of cloth would be enough. My wife ordered 800 metres.

The tailor was surprised. “Madam, 150 metres is enough for one dress each.”

She said, “No. I want to give them five dresses each.”

There was silence.

Five.

All of us were stunned. She simply said, “I want them to feel happy.”

The tailor said it would be difficult to finish in such a short time. There were only seven days left. My wife’s answer was firm, and she reiterated, “I want the children to feel happy.”

Later that evening, she thought aloud: “They are school-going children. Let us give them school bags, too.” Then came lunch boxes. Then water bottles. Then chocolates.

I mostly remained silent. But that silence was not disagreement. It was the silence of witnessing love take form.

Now the bags, lunch boxes, water bottles and chocolates are being packed separately for each child. We have made name tags for them, so that each child receives something meant personally for them.

Perhaps this is what it means to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud. Not by giving a speech about hope. Not by asking grief to disappear. But by allowing grief to become tenderness. By letting love, which has nowhere else to go, find its way into another child’s smile.

On June 21, we hope to bring a little colour into the lives of those children.

And somewhere in those clouds, I hope to see my daughter, too.