After several years of drought, its been raining in Brisbane. As spectacle, it is gentler than Mumbai rain. The playing fields opposite by block of flats are sodden but the rain is not intense enough to prevent a game of friendly football. On river trips, an activity I am addicted to, I spot the regular pattern of falling raindrops from riverbank trees and river surface alike. Ferry and bus windows mist over and viewed through these windows, the little houses that hug the ridges of the city are all a bit like the hill station song sequence of "Tu Kahan yeh bata" except that you are more likely to pass louche young men in skull design hoodies on the way to the local pub. The days are grey and everyone at the Institute huddles in the cafe below, slightly wet and chilled, drinking large mugs of hot chocolate. Every such period is followed by a day when no rain falls but the wind whips around the corner and everywhere there are people hurrying, clutching on to jackets and possessions, eager to escape into heated, still rooms. Then we have a few days of sun and its all like the Frank Marshall Davis poem http://www.orangeturtle.com/fourglimpses.html, the magic of the few dark days dissipating in the muggy heat. Then again, maybe all this is not true and its just a few days of dull rain and normal weather patterns and I am merely in love with and therefore irrational about all things dark and moody like rainy days and nights.
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