Admit it! There is something special about the first rains. Something so special that it can’t be captured on lens, told over telephone, or written on a blog. It is like an intimate conversation with a friend, or like reading your own diary. It makes you cry.

And invariably it makes you feel lonely amidst the million little droplets of rain. It makes you cry.

Or maybe it makes you feel like going make home. And soon you realise that you have lost that along the way. And it makes you cry.

And when you see the crows and sparrows having a good cool shower after three months of sweltering heat, you feel like running and dancing with them. And when you realise your neighbours might laugh at you if you do, you start dancing like no one’s watching. But it makes you cry.

And when think of your friends with whom you played football in the rain. Or when you went for a chai and pakora, sharing umbrellas. Ah! It makes you cry.

And the next evening when you are bedridden with fever, with a thermometer down you throat. It makes you smile, nevertheless.

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