From the eyes of aspiration and thirst of desperation, she is coming back. Mumbai rains are coming back. When the mornings will burst with singing downpour, the kids will take another off from school. Pools of water alongside the road will become their friends. Little girls in tunics will gather on the green with butterfly clips on their head to play ringa ringa roses. The sun will shy and faces will glow. In locals and BESTs, laughter will roar every time burst of drops is set to pour. When the sky will make a thunderous sound, she will find shelter in your arms. From Bandra to Worli, the sea will sing on the beats of clouds. The offices will cheer, looking through the pane. Meetings cancelled and early to home, a sheer joy to have the evening tea with love. New energies and new ideas will take the charge.
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From the fear of blockage and stress of potholes, she is coming back. Mumbai rains are coming back. When the mornings will burst from scary downpour, plastic bags will swim on Andheri station. Men and women rushing to their offices will twist & turn and barge and bump into each other to save themselves from the dirt. Kurla will go wild with filth on the rise, day will be dim; “Whose kid is it? Whose kid is it?” khaalaa jaan will scream. The locals will dance, late about an hour. Still in the train, people will reign, this time a little too closer. Broadway will be on the Lower Parel bridge when the rain is sharp. SV will be cramped, Linking will go shrink, Milan might be safe if there is no mole in the drain. Dadar will drown with Mahim-Matunga in its crown.
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In barsaaton ne humein bahut bhigoya hai,
Kya karen, aapki kuch aadat si ho gayi hai.
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