The Evening

The clouds are grey. Depressingly grey at that.

The roads are wet as well. But the smell is not what you associate with the rains. There are no smells in fact. Like artificial roses.

The buildings look drenched. Like someone's who's forgotten to towel himself after bath.

The roads glisten and look slippery. The umbrellas are all black. As black as the birds on the roof.

Song's Laari Chhooti. At least it ends on a happier note.

As if this was not enough a reminder, I have been sneezing since morning. I am unshaven.

And then I hear rain.



The room does not have a window sill to peep out from.

That is good. Bloody good.