It's June, and the monsoons are almost here. In a few days the rain will drown every other sound. You will look out of your balcony and find the world mysterious and shrouded; only masked, though, because everything is still the same, people are going to work and going for movies.
There will be rain songs on the radio on the first day but you will eventually tire of them. Artists and poets will revel in the inspiration. A broken heart will run into many editions, quoting Oscar Wilde.
There will be people whose roofs leak and people who have no roofs at all, and these people will curse the rain. There will be children battling fever or something more sinister, and there will be children playing in the rain, laughing.
A few people will walk slowly in the streets, giving the rain every opportunity to cleanse them, praying for it to do so. Bikers feeling brave will fly past them. Trains will run with their doors and windows closed.
Colourful umbrellas will resist grey skies, and deep down, everyone will be glad, because the monsoons are eventful, and that is what this city thrives on.
P.S. : Deviating from usual policy, I am supporting violence: the death sentence handed out for an honour killing. Also traffic police being provided arms.
