Bombay Rains

There was an odd thing about it. It rained. I stood under it and it rained and rained and all I could do was reach out my hand to the dry earth and wonder why it was here, all alone, under this lamp post that it would rain on me. This is a story not about love or death or misery. I don’t know if this tale serves any purpose in its existence. It exists. I have ever since that day attempted to know why it was this happened to me. And for that sole purpose I mimic the traveler who tells all about the albatross. I hope that at least you would help me make sense of this. I was in a foreign land. I won’t tell you my origins or where I was then. All that matters is that it wasn’t home. Abject and disappointed I was trawling the streets, barely looking up from the extremely interesting studying of my fraying shoes. The passing feet too caught my fancy. There was the staid, sturdy typical brown cap toes. The slow, grudging dragging of these told many a story of the weary traveler going h...

As dawn came closer, the threat of an impending day loomed large. How comforting the night was in its utter darkness. As she rose from the cold floor and moved towards the doors, she couldn’t help but feel at peace for the first time today. The constant clanging that never left her side, faithfully accompanied her now too albeit silently. She had long ago learnt how to move without moving at all. It had helped greatly. She was now here, in somewhat fresh air, looking up at a starless sky, reveling in not being able to recognise a single shape. The whole universe was a black canvas. No moon, no stars, no planes, no life. Just her and the infinite darkness. There had been a time when the night had scared her, when she went everywhere with lights in her pocket. When darkness was a thing to be feared, shied away from. Light, sun, sight; these were prized possessions, things to be valued and enjoyed. She woke everyday with the feel of sun on her face, a smile already spreading. She left w...