Wake up to the sound of the rain, plat plat, plat, diffused through your window, early in the morning. Open the window. Diffused day. A dull grey sky. Rain pelting down. Hills in the background hidden behing the curtain of water. Closer still, a redder earth, greener leaves, light green grass, enlivened by the rain, bearing its brunt. Accentuated colors. Lazily brush your teeth. Suddenly enjoy the cold water running down the tap. An extra splash. Lighted corridoor, but a sense of darkness in the mind. Go down to the mess. Hot tea, watching the rain, trees dancing to the breeze...

...the rain stops. An eerie silence, as though someone has paused everthing. The sun bullied to submission by the clouds, dares a peek suddenly. Bathes the earth in sunshine. Frogs, crickets, birds, in turn, take a peek from their shelter. Sunshine. Birds start to sing, frogs to croak, crickets start cricketing. Silence over, in just a moment.

Take the cycle. Roads flushed clean by the rain. Small streams of water by the side of the road, gushing towards the nullah and the lake. Droplets of water, just about to fall from leaves. Droplet falls. Another comes to replaces it, just about to fall. A lonely bird, all wet, with ruffled feathers, the dog, twisting its body free of water.

Cycle moves on, the wheels splitting a thin film of water on the ground. Invisible. Water splashes on both sides of the wheels, older people, pants foldedto their knees, black umberella, on the morning walk, sidestep to avoid the splash. Small puddles. Kids in red, green, blue, transperent raincoats, jump around, irreverent to their rin-white uniforms...

...a warmhole, time jumps, another age, another place.

A kid now. Red raincoat, heavy bag, waterbottle in hand, waiting for the bus, on a dry patch. Civilization restarts. Uncle's and Aunty's buying fresh fish. Bargaining. The newspaper guy arranges his stall. Small desk, full of news, english, hindi, bengali, covered all, in transperent white plastic. People huddle around him. Opinions opiniated, cigarrettes shared, chai sipped. The sweet shop owner raises his shutters. Hot shingara (samosa) aroma prods, urges everyone to the sweet shop.

The wooden bus arrives. Windows just open. Water sticking to the frame. Fresh air battles with the smell of dampness. Sets still damp. Bus moves, a little nap as the cool breeze hits your face...

...department, shady spot for cycle. Signature, mandatory attendence. Lab, A.C., lights, computer, orkut, gmail, thesis...

...Outside, the heavens open again.

Yes! the rains are here!!!!!