When it rained

Some time back, it rained.

Delhi’s scorcher of a sun had been beating unpityingly upon all and sundry.

By afternoon, people had woebegone faces; many looked fit enough o cry buckets.

The steady droning of air conditioners was a welcome relief; however, the same didn’t hold true for many others open to the elements.

So when a sandstorm started in the evening, people cast expectant eyes at the azure skies, where fluffy clouds were beginning to form, unmistakably.

The clouds burst, and a drizzle soon made way to a steady shower.

From my office cafeteria, I espied brick-kiln workers smiling cheerily at each other, hailing the welcome rain with thankful eyes, and tired, open arms.

Everyone seemed happy.

Except me, who wished I could be with him. Smiling when the rain streamed down my cheeks.

Instead of the tears that were pouring.