When one has lived and grown up in India, the monsoons, the puddles, the flooding, the slush...that precipitation becomes an ubiquitous part of you. When the summer is at its sweltering worst, you yearn for the rains, when the monsoons arrive, you savor the feel of those crisp raindrops on your skin, you enjoy huddling under that umbrella, and that uncomfortable raincoat. But soon enough you begin to curse the slush, the incessant pouring, the clothes that never seem to be dry enough, the temporary flooding of streets and the temporary insanity that ensues. And when the clouds pour forth more than what they were supposed to, you bemoan the washing away of villages, the loss of  life, land, and property. The rains, the monsoons are as much an inherent part of an Indian as its unfathomable diversity.

There are these memories I have of those rainy days - June, July, August and September... I hope to recall them as I walk through this puddle of life - this blog.