The night sky rumbles again. It is raining,the third rain of the season. It is the rain after which the romanticizing of rain stops. No one talks about greenery,cool breezes and petrichor any more.Its the time you start noticing the muddy trousers and the stupid earthworms.The rains are a lot like relationships.
She has always loved them.She sits there by the huge french windows. Staring blankly into the horizon, as she bites into her onion pakodas. Soothing blues music playing in the background. She is in the middle of a city that holds five million people; she feels alone. Decides to divert her attention to better things, to the two drops of water trickling down the window…
They are in a race of their own. She always liked to do this, ever since she was a kid- create imaginary races between two drops of water. Maybe she never had much of a life after all. She grins, not sure why that thought makes her happy.Meanwhile the drops continue their race, the right one just getting ahead of the left one now.
In less than a minute the drops are gone.The right one reached first, the left one a bit later. A small trail was left behind, a trail that is fast disappearing.Maybe the drops shouldn’t have been so obsessed with the race, she thinks, mulling over the futility of it all.
Maybe she thinks too much. Chucking the thought aside, she digs into her pakoda again, and lets the calmness of the blues take over. The race can wait.