(No, it wasn’t. I just said that to grab your attention. Authors know the power of the opening line. And nature’s ravages often make the best opening lines.)
At least, it wasn’t raining in the morning when we set foot on the platform. Not the first visit, but this time was different. It was as sunny as a sunny day in summer can be. There was no promise of the monsoon.
It started to rain in the evening, thwarting all met predictions, as usual. The monsoon had hit hours ahead of schedule. And what a rain it was! I had seen rain like that before, of course. Who (from Kerala) hasn’t? But I never had to be out in that kind of rain. The road had become a river, and we were in a car that was rowing through it. Headlights reflected from the water. Rain lashed against the windows. The trees by the roadside swayed in the wind. We watched the road, eyes wide and apprehensive.
The first part of the road was familiar to the person who drove. Then we had to ask for directions. Then we found it, a small building through a thick curtain of rainwater.
And the cold – I never knew a rain, even the most violent, unstopping kind could bring such cold, that we would shiver throughout the night, that would bring a cool breeze even in the morning; a breeze that I would soon be very familiar with and very fond of.
A new life, new path, new discoveries, new experiences.
Ten years ago.