After Dark.

The clouds are chattering above the building. Through the glass panes, we hear them, like garrulous women at a market. Like the past few days, the evening hides behind the thick layer of darkness and while it tries and peeks, the clouds part through the centre.

The clothes on faraway clotheslines, faceless people hanging upside down, expand and deflate with the wind. The children at the windows hold out their hands in anticipation of the October rain.

Behind us, behind our important backs, the rain does come, haltingly at first, then confidently like it’s being doing this for years. When we step out, the world is dark and inky, painted in several shades of doom.

Oh October.

The October heat, which lasted for just under a day, dissolved into a downpour.

I took an auto home and the tyres made squeaking sounds against the slick streets. The plump, glistening raindrops splashed onto cars and tired heads. I stood under a tree, waiting to cross the street, bathing in the water that rolled off the sleeping leaves. The people around me jumped across the wet mud, hoping to not get it as little as possible on their leather shoes. Others who had perhaps decided to wear the same trousers the next day muttered angrily at the unexpected change in their plans. The sky looked confused, the blue and the black fighting it out amidst all the jagged lightning.

The monsoons which Bombay assumed were gone returned briefly to a strange combination of relief and irk.