It was the 12th of February. Another winter on the verge of death. And it rained in Delhi. Large droplets descended to the filth, dust and the litter. Forming pools on uneven patches of roads and filling up the cavities left by metro workers. Dripping down the metal bodies of cars and soaking the seats of cycle rickshaws. Settling the dust to a greasy muck. Returning the dark green of the foliage.
Someone said it’s “the end of winter” rain.
It was dark, damp and cold. Lightning stuck erratically and sound followed unsurprisingly with routine murky rumble. Mongrels remained in shades, cuddling to themselves. Traffic lights froze as the droplets spread into their within. Weary faces peered out from the long lines of vehicles.
There was a worn-out unease in the air. Instilled probably by the early darkness. Perhaps by the apprehension of a looming deluge.
An ugly desolate rain.