[2 Nov 2007: drenched in the middle of India]
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.'
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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