The sky gets all teary-eyed as you pack. Tired, heavy drops fall on your windowsill.
Anuradha Patel glides from one corner of the screen to another looking like she has cancer or something. So do you, gathering sundry items still lying in the dresser and putting them in a Zipouch.
Aadhe sookhe aadhe geele, sookha to main le aayi thi
Geela man shaayad bistar ke paas pada ho, woh bhijwa do, mera woh saamaan lauta do
Memories of a monsoon evening, Continue reading of leaving