Reflections and rain.

I had evidently pissed off my friend, but I couldn't care less. I ask to be dropped off near the main road. My friend doesn't quite know the route. I suspect I was in the car only to guide him to the main road anyway. I borrow some money and set off to buy some books.

It is quite a hot afternoon, and time is running out. There is the railway station that I haven't seen in years. It is indeed old. Then there is the bridge I have to walk under, and continue straight before I hit a most famous intersection and take a right on to a most famous street. It used to be different, I know. There is now a McDonald's not too far from the intersection, and I immediately disapprove. Who the hell cares about what I think though. The street is crowded, as it has probably always been. It hasn't changed much since I was here last, save of course, for the McDonald's. In fact, it looks like it's always been this crowded. I try to imagine the same street at the height of its grandeur. Almost instantly, trees, and reflections replace the unseemly electricity poles, streetlights and advertisement hoardings. Turn around and take a couple of pictures of the structure beyond the intersection, but the same electricity poles and power lines prevent me from getting a good shot. A bearded man in white taps me on the shoulder and asks me the time. I realize I am getting late, so I quicken my pace and take the next left. In the meantime, clouds have begun to gather overhead. Wonder if it might rain at Lord's too. Myself and a few hundred million others that follow India's test cricket fortunes would quite like that.

There are signs, although few and far between, written in a script I cannot read. The smell of a familiar food item consumes me, but I decide against eating; I had just had a heavy lunch with the friend and two others. Find my way to the place I had set off for. There is nothing new about this road. It's bustling with activity, as always. There are understandably more people of my age, presumably here for the same reason. It has begun to drizzle a little. I go inside different stores and give shopkeepers the list. At bigger stores the list is given a quick glance, and then passed onto a younger assistant with specific instructions. But nothing. The shopkeepers know they need to pull their stalls inside and shut shop for the time being. There is a popular shop where I am sure I will find them. It was my last resort, and only upon ascending the poorly lit and extremely narrow flight of steps to the second floor do I realize that I had been here before, again, some two years ago.

My friend calls me and asks me if I wanted a ride back. Politely decline his offer. The street is almost empty now, for it is raining perceptibly more heavily now. But there's still a while to go before it might pour. The air now intoxicatingly smells of wet earth, and an overpowering desire to reunite with old memories makes me set off for the bus stop on foot.

By the time I get on a road that leads to a characteristically shaped bridge by the same name, it has suddenly become very heavy. I run to the bridge and stop for shelter, while trains slowly go about their business as is usual.

Emerge from the shelter after the rain relents somewhat, and enter a world entirely different from the one I spent the last hour in. Learn from locals that it has rained at Lord's too. The test match has been saved.