Walking down the road. Calcuttas roads. Riddled with innumerable potholes, a private swimming pool for every crow the city harbours. This is my reality.
This, the muddy, pimpled, pockmarked streets, the swarming streams of humanity that jostle me on my way to work, the little sheets of scratch paper I write my assignments on.
Out of the cavernous station at last. It rained incessantly last weekend. Ruined my suede shoes. The rain stopped. Umbrellas down, its enough to gouge my eye out.
The rain stopped. The earth finally exhales, as the sun sullenly shines on.
The earth sweats, hits me on my face. Her sweat evokes a memory. Her dampness reminds. I am suddenly reminded of my own femininity.