It’s raining in Pune. Just a drab down pour. Not dancing and joyous streaks like Mumbai. Nor exciting and adamant rush like in Bangalore. Nor comfortable and reassuring like in Kolkata. Here it has no character at all. Nothing that would tell it apart.

I would head for my rented room soon and seek company in Unconsoled which I have finally started reading. I miss you. Your lighthearted banter. Your unhurried restlessness. Your sudden concern. Your quirky humour. Your spirited arguments. Your unabashed simplicity. Your childlike smile.