I'm told I may as well enjoy the rush while it lasts. The fatigue, the long hours and the madness - I'm told it gets to you after some time. If it does, this is the first place I'll say it...but till then, it would be criminal not to celebrate the rain, or the exhilaration of footboard travel on a local.
It rains anytime it pleases. Literally. It's brilliant. Sometimes, the sky darkens and it becomes perceptibly cooler; then there's a mild shower, which steadily gives way to a glorious downpour. At other times, you're suddenly, casually told by the unmistakable patter of raindrops, or a spattered windshield or windowpane. The rain has a mind of its own, in a city with a mind of its own - a city that becomes a willing character in your story. What more could you possibly ask?
And if you haven't felt the breeze in your face as you perch at the doors of a local thundering through western or suburban Mumbai, you haven't lived. It's liberating beyond belief - and the freshness of it never dies. It's the kind that sets you free, the sort that obligingly hands you bricks for your own little castle in the air.
More, later.
