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It’s Monday evening, and I am tired. I sat in the balcony, sipping my cup of coffee. I am so lost in the moment that a drop of rain on my cheek brings me back, which also takes me back to my childhood. Unlike many, I do not have memories of dancing in the rain or participating in a paper boat race. I enjoyed the rain, though. It brought me joy. Watching the rain felt soothing, but my favorite part was eating a plate of pakoras that my mom made while our family ate together. I once asked my friend, who is a writer, what rain is to her. She said, “Rain is a music that makes me dance like a child to its rhythm. Rain is love that drenches me, making my tears disappear.” That is a very romantic way to say it, but for me, rain is a time to sit on the balcony and eat a plate of pakoras

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