Rain. In the years that I have been here, I have lived through all shades of  monsoons. But this once is different. No slow build up of tempo—the skies have just opened up, intent on pelting downpours so heavy that you can’t see beyond a few feet. Relentless, mad rain  for days on end is a feature of our monsoons—but this happens a week or fortnight into the season, the first few days are a slow, even kind phasing in. Yesterday wild wind gusts have brought down many trees that were standing for years—bend, or give way.

Beyond my window the whoo whoo of the wind whips through what was once a canyon and now is not, rattling windows and keeping one awake past midnight. Even the crows are disturbed and squawk in alarm.