Trying desperate to enter and caress the one homeward bound, She made a long mark on the glass. Like a snail’s tell-tale tail. Or a the glistening trail that a tear leaves in its wake. The rains had not failed me, yet again. They hadn’t failed to put up a welcome the moment the KSRTC bus had passed the Palakkad border.
Rain…
People going about their business in the cover of their black Popy umbrellas…
Small cliques gathering around coconut-leaf-roofed tea shops, braving the rain…
Unfinished construction work leaving the roads in tatters…
Thousands of millions of coconut and banana trees…
Houses that are not houses, but homes…
Buses, appropriately coloured red so as to camoflauge the blood they spill, on their daily killing sprees…
Smiling auto drivers who talk animatedly about the rain…
YOU GOTTA LOVE THIS FRICKING STATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
<3
Truly God’s Own…
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