There's a certain bluesy tune to the rainfall outside my balcony today. It's been an incessant flow, making me feel like I'm living next to a mountain river. Like the Beas that flowed below the hotel I was staying at in Manali. I remember the view from the room: looking out into the upper valley, a forest of dark green pine trees and grey cloud capped mountains.
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It's been speeding and slowing at will, the rain. Like a whimsical child playing with her imaginary friends, talking to herself. And I wish it poured and poured and poured more. Like it would flood and everything would get washed away. Washed clean of the tiniest speck of dust and purged of every memory of the past. And the next day would bring only the freshest, most thoroughly well scrubbed world of new possibilities.