D,

We've had a summer ritual which we unknowingly observed for the last three years with (almost) religious piety. The gulmohar tree outside the window had burst into a fiery orange. Yesterday the first rains reluctantly trickled down the city and doused the flames of the forest.The sholay of May will soon drop into a puddle of rain water and our summer rite still remains incomplete.

We missed the nine buck train ride for a warm, sunny lunch washed down with cold lemon iced tea, laced with conversations. We've also foregone the ritualistic pattern of scourging our brains and every city guide for a 'new' place to eat at, only to ultimately find ourselves (for the nth time) in our good old favorite joint.

Its pouring in all its splendour now and I can hear a distant rumble of thunder. I will miss hearing you go shrill over the joy that the rain brings you, interjected only by your mutter of how you dislike your feet getting wet. :)

As I tip toe over keechad and jump over potholes, I'll think of you with your long umbrella and your dad's raincoat. Another summer passes by and the city will be washed clean yet again. I hope you won't miss seeing our city soaked to the bone, too much. There will be more scorching summers with renewed rites and rains. Till then I'll drink a glass of deep purple kaala khatta to you, just for old times' sake.