I woke up at six yesterday. It was raining outside. Delhi was drenched. A familiar smell stared at me—the smell of Mumbai, of childhood, of a different life.
I stood on the balcony looking out at the cloud-covered sky—familiar, yet strange. And then, I heard the song that the rain sang. The song of the sea. The song of a happy land. The song of nostalgia and heartbreaking joy.
I stood there for a long time. The rain left. Delhi dried itself in the scorching sun. The fleeting vision of Mumbai evaporated in front of my eyes. I was left alone, in a dry land, wondering how many times will I have to leave Mumbai.
