There are few occasions, especially in Kolkata, when you’d have rain on a cold winter morning. It’s incredibly depressing to even hear that, let alone watch it. But there is that charm, that wet coldness which stirs the inside of you. It doesn’t rattle you. It doesn’t numb you. It begs you to step up, to be counted.
After an exam season worth remembering and not remembering both, the first morning I wake up to find a misty-wet-early December morning made me realize that the typical everyday-chilly-wet-mountain mornings could also be found on the plains. It made me yearn ever yet again to be curled up somewhere in the hills. And with D beside me. As always.
