The seasons are shifting around us. The umbrellas are flaring up all around, rudely woken up for their catnaps.

The people are all hidden behind their rubber masks and rain caps. Their trouser bottoms drag across the ground, clinging to the mulch. Their angry faces glisten in the rain, as they stand begging the auto drivers to take them home. They trudge home, angry and helpless, only to come back the next day.

The people, who were whining about the lack of rain, are now whining about their damp denims.

At nights, the city sleeps fitfully. It dreams of delayed trains and persistent coughs.