I miss the changing seasons. I see the entire year in Mumbai full of sun with the exception of three months of rain and mud and the stench of the mangroves. Each time someone complains here of being cold, I've to stop myself from mentioning the cold northern winters... That chilly morning air seeping under the door... Hot chai and thick cotton razai... Socks and double sweaters.
After three years, I find myself missing the transition of the seasons... I could feel the spring, brutal summer, rains and barely-there autumn and hints of chill post Deepavali, followed by winters and prospect of another beautiful short spring around holi, soon followed by boiling temperatures again. Year after year. Your body gets used to the pattern such that a sudden change in weather brings about a headache. Mumbai heat is giving me a headache everyday. It's October and it's not right.
It makes me nostalgic. I miss home. Mumbai suddenly feels like an alien place - hot, humid, loud and disturbing.
I long for a quiet, cold place. This calls for a vacation.
After three years, I find myself missing the transition of the seasons... I could feel the spring, brutal summer, rains and barely-there autumn and hints of chill post Deepavali, followed by winters and prospect of another beautiful short spring around holi, soon followed by boiling temperatures again. Year after year. Your body gets used to the pattern such that a sudden change in weather brings about a headache. Mumbai heat is giving me a headache everyday. It's October and it's not right.
It makes me nostalgic. I miss home. Mumbai suddenly feels like an alien place - hot, humid, loud and disturbing.
I long for a quiet, cold place. This calls for a vacation.
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