Just another road in just another city.One so much like another in this country. It is like they have been made to fit in any bit of the subcontinent. A cool guy wearing sun glasses in teh night with his hand resting on the shoulder of another similarly clad moron right next to him. Two hormonally active girls aware and glad of the attention of the random strangers.
A three wheeler struggling to leave its mark on a crowded road. Two buses caught at the cross roads, both wanting to move ahead and both being obstructed by the other. A lot of lives simply interconnected because of where and how they are.
A small drop comes down and disappears completely unnoticed. Quickly followed by another and soon what was by size so insignificant makes up for it in volume and you have a torrential downpour. A downpour, attempting to cleanse the scorched souls and treat their wounds. It does succeed with those with skin deep wounds. But not all scars can be taken care of overnight. Some people do relish revisiting what was for in their contorted vision, that and only that is their identity. The rain leaves, unable to decide whether it was a success or a failure, unable to accept that those are not the only two states of being.
I simply watch the rain, fully aware that what goes around, has to come around and that every wound does heal, even if not immediately and that special summer rains are much more important for they remind people of something more than the tedium of their existence.