Water

Next time it's cold and rainy outside, go and watch this movie. It manages to melt a banyan tree, a bamboo flute, a black baby dog, quotations from Sanskrit poetry and lots of white cotton saris into one big beautiful picture - while all the time it is really shockingly realistic. Being a widow in a traditional Hindu society is just as ugly as "Water" makes it appear. And M. K. Gandhi's political activity did chiefly consist of appearances of just the kind you see towards the end of the movie...
Some nutcases think this movie attacks Hinduism. It does not; it doesn't even make fun of Gandhi, though that is quite the vogue in India now. All it condemns is stupidity and inhuman behaviour. - And the little girl you can see in the picture is certainly a most stunning actress - she alone is worth the way to the cinema!
Water plays a great many roles in "Water". You can use it to wash fleas off a puppy. You wet someone's hair with water in order to shave their head. You can use fetching water from the river as an excuse to meet your beloved. Rain is water, and so are rainclouds - even when they occur in classical poems. You cross the water of the river for a number of purposes. Even when the male protagonist's brother, the "brown Englishman" who has embraced Western culture and whisky, mangles a German song at his piano, it is Ich hört' ein Bächlein rauschen wohl aus dem Felsengrund ("I heard a brook a-gushing amid the rocky grounds"). Dead bodies go into the water of the Ganges. So do living bodies, and sometimes they do not return.
And then there is the tear in the spectator's eye.

the first rain...

...after five weeks of heat.

and the first hug, after at least as many weeks' silence.

both have a very nice and cleansing effect on the atmosphere.

Another bathing place

What you see in this picture is part of the Museumsquartier - a large complex of halls and suchlike in the middle of Vienna, formerly used for more business oriented things, like large fairs and commercial exhibitions, but nowadays it's a bunch of museums and art gallerys. With some large courtyards in between, just for fun. And in the biggest of them, there's a water pool (lower left).
It's nearly always in the shadow, except maybe at high noon in the middle of summer, so it's nice and cool. The edge is just high enough to sit on comfortably, and the water is only 40 cm deep. Also, there is a sign on the edge that reads NO BATHING - PARENTS RESPONSIBLE FOR THEIR CHILDREN. You really have to look for that sign, or you'll never find it.
When I sat down there this afternoon to cool my feet (at 30°C), I counted no less than eight little boys and girls playing in the water and having a great time. With the appropriate number of responsible mummies either sitting on the edge, cooling their feet - or playing in the water, having a great time too.

rain

that's you sitting behind this curtain of rain, i can see you:
the little round spots on the ground that look like drops
are really prints of your toes, and the clouds
just bulged because you took one too deep breath behind them.

that's you sitting behind this curtain of rain, i can hear you:
this dribbling sound comes from your shuffling feet, and this
tiny little pit-pat is your ear-ring jingling, while
the big whoosh is your hair brushing against the curtain cloth.

that's you sitting behind this curtain of rain, i can feel you:
the breeze is too warm to come from any hills but your bosom's,
and the little rivulets finding their way along my scalp
down my neck couldn't do so unguided - your finger behind each of them.

that's you sitting behind this curtain of rain, i can smell you:
no use pretending, dear, that this is the awakening earth
or leaf buds bursting on trees. all these i know well enough
to tell their arome from your shoulders, and hips, and legs.

that's you sitting behind this curtain of rain: i can taste you
in the moisture that gets in my mouth, mingled with petals and
filaments. i'm now pushing away this grey stuff, coming to share
your lair, trusting you keep snugness enough there for two.