The Orange Rain

1

Sands of time. That is how, many a great writers have described it. It is slippery. The more you try to hold on to it, the less successful you become. You can’t even perceive that the pile of sand is shrinking by the moment, like a pricked balloon, until you realise its all gone. I have never come across a more apt comparison for anything else in my twenty five odd years of existence. Its a constant source of wonder as to how it is possible for anyone to wake up every morning without drowning himself in the abyss of nostalgia.

Nostalgic. Thats the best I could describe my state, if I try to tone down my thoughts . Twilight rains have that effect on me. Perhaps even the ancient men who lived and died along the mighty rivers of Ganga also grew melancholic during the twilights. The mantras might have just been a distraction.

One usually welcomes the rain gods during the sweltering May...