The dark green of the leaves in the darkness glistened like they had a coat of varnish. Some appeared absolute white where the shine was at it's maximum. An almost black shade adjoined the white at places. A play of light and shadow created by a streetlight that grew close to the lamppost and the wind. The sheen added by a fresh showered. As if they existed in utopia, if one witnessed utopia that is.
It had rained continuously for hours together. A first for this year's monsoon season. The roads were wet, tyres of cars, bikes sunk in stagnant rainwater which ceased flowing into the already full drains. The vehicles themselves were drenched. Maybe they'd need some heat too. With the city's dust and grime washed away, their true colours shone bright.
Clothes take more time to dry. Perhaps, only when the Sun peeks amidst heavy clouds, or when the damp towels, kurtas, trousers are spread on the furniture all over the house. Wet footprints dot the dry floor in a pattern a right followed by a left footprint. Shouts follow tarting the owner of those feet.
One can hear the pittar patter of the raindrops against the window shield when it pours hard. Many times, a night's sleep is broken due to this endless noise. Accustoming oneself to a regular drill, the mind is lulled to sleep. Only to wake up to see slick roads on the morrow's morning. The proof to show that clouds burst the previous night.