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Rainy Sunday

I moved to Bangalore a month and a half ago, but this is the first weekend I spent by myself in my home. It wasn’t easy making a house a home. Its not just things which help, but something extra, which I am still looking for. A vision I always had in my head was to be able to sit in my room, look out the window when it rains and have a hot piping cup of coffee. Bangalore is blessed with the best weather ever, among all the metros I have been to. It was just one of those days when the earth’s powers combined and gave me a perfectly rainy day, alone in my house on a Sunday, with nothing that pressing to do.

As soon as the clouds which had been hanging around parted to give the first hint of the sweet rainy smell, I ran to whip up a frothy piping cup of coffee. By the time it was raining, I had a hot piping coffee in my hand, perfectly positioned seat and perfectly beautiful jazz playing in the background. Something still didn’t feel right, something was missing, or I should say someone. That vision always had two people in it, at least since it changed a little more than a year ago. One was missing, and what took its place were memories of the rains I had shared with this someone.


It still felt good, hot coffee and rain, but it felt different. The coffee had a little less flavor, a little more nostalgia. We get what we wish for, well, more or less, a bit chipped here or a little nicked there, we just have to make do with it. 

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