Strange how hard it rains now.
I stood in the downpour of the last remnants of rainy season desperate to find an auto rickshaw. I pulled my purple dupata over my head and within a few minutes I was fully soaked, and it was dark.
Kids were running barefoot holding hands and a mom walked with her babe on her hip, saree hiked up around her knees. An old man rode a bicycle, holding a piece of cardboard over his head and lightening flashed over us.
Rain is the great equalizer. We were all wet.
So I sang a Patty Griffin song to myself as the auto driver strike caused the number of autos on the road to be basically none. I wasn't sure if the rain was all of God's grief finally unleashed on the earth, or His blessing. I guess even the tears of God would be a blessing to this thirsty planet.
'Strange how hard it rains now rows and rows of big dark clouds but I'm still hanging on underneath this shroud.
Rain.'
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