Time
Time. Remembered as seasons. Season of rains in Mumbai. Of puddles everywhere. Of squishy shoes and dripping clothes. Of buses splashing water as they go past you. As the benches joined together in the classroom. As the soggy notebooks being taken out of the rainy walk to school. Of summers. Of pickled tender mangoes. Of the drying karuvadams on the terrace. Of the sweet smelling night jasmine that we would pluck early in the morning. Of the wafting fragrance of the nandiarvattai. And the mangoes, oh the mangoes, dripping through the fingers and sticky afterwards. Of the smell of the soil after the first drizzle. Of the feeling that summer is approaching and vacations are around the corner. Or the approaching winter with that nip in the air. Time. Remembered as days. Days you cannot forget. Days of happiness. Days of joy. Days of sadness. Days of despair. Festival days. Celebration days. Winning days. Exuberant days. Comfortable days. Time. Remembered as moments....