I'm in Thane. Just had methi parantha at a small joint here that goes by the name 'My Kitchen'. Sometimes when I get ready early and have time to spare I come here to have my breakfast. Very boring, very sada and very delicious. The place used to feel hostile earlier, what with everything written in Marathi on the huge flex board menu right above the counter. But I am not here to talk of flex boards and the like. I'm writing because it suddenly started to pour. I don't have an umbrella and so have to wait here till the rain subsides, even my bag is made of cloth. And while I was having my coffee, served in a thin paper cup and continued to read my book..I had a sudden urge to write. It must have been the rain that did it. And so here I am.
I think the rain will come down a notch or two in a couple of minutes. And I will start walking towards my place of work. I will spend another day working, writing..and taking in the same bits of poetry again and again as if it were all written to reassure me. A song or two might follow and then some philosophy I might give in to. I would chit chat a bit with people at work and then I would go home once more. Tedious few hours would pass and I would secretly enjoy myself while all the same lamenting my being lonely.
Yes, I love it here.
15 minutes later
No. It didn't stop raining. In fact, if anything it is pelting harder and I am not happily disposed in the same eatery anymore. I took a longer route to the work place for reasons that had better remain undisclosed, and in the meantime it started to pour again. And I'm standing under a shed in a shanty. Praying my slippery slippers wont give me away today. I don't want to fall on my butt.
30 minutes later
At my desk now. All drenched and dripping. Having waited under a tree and a tin shed for as much as I could, I finally started to walk back. Mid-way it again poured. Running was not an option given my slipping-prone chappals so I had to walk even more slowly. One foot at a time.