Pitter Patter...

Rain. Growing up in Mumbai is about being one with it. Splashing in it, sometimes wading through it, fighting on when the windscreen wipers work furiously and still you cant see the road. It envelops you. You cannot remain untouched. I guess if you can live with it, you are halfway being a mumbaikar. If you can enjoy it, you might never leave.
How different the same rain is here. The clouds ready to burst, but they never really do - almost respecting people's desire to go on un-interrupted. As I wake up and see through this cocoon of semi-light, I feel the urge to open the windows, hear it fall, stretch my hand out. For a moment, forgetting that I am eight thousand miles from home. No, it isnt different - this rain. If it makes you feel the same way, how can it be. How can it be?

Is it just me or....

Life. Is it made up of moments or do "moments" make life? Why does time fly by sometimes? And sometimes, why doesn't a single moment come to pass? Are these just philosophical questions and a way to move away from living? Or do these questions help us come "alive"?
I guess, I don't know the answer. I guess, I never will. Maybe the answer doesn't exist. Or maybe, it keeps changing!
But still I wonder...