The monsoon retains a grip on Mumbai.

Heavy storms blow in today, sideways, slashing bellows of water from the sky.

Socked in on the 14th floor, we overlook only mist and cloud, the teeming city obscured.

Twenty-five million people hunker beneath this umbrella of rain.

Some of my pleasantest hours were during the long rain storms in the spring or fall, which confined me to the house for the afternoon as well as the forenoon, soothed by their ceaseless roar and pelting.   –Henry David Thoreau. Walden

Until the sky rises again, light filters in, and the city is grey, wet, and clear.


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