Naan unnai serdnha selvam

You wake up from your afternoon slumber, and notice it’s gotten darker earlier than usual. Or did you sleep too late into the evening? You wonder as you groggily walk to the kitchen, and notice that lights have come on already and it feels like it’s Deepavali. But there’s no sound of crackers, no acrid smell of sulphur. You notice that your tea is in the tumbler and you realise that the evening has come a little early to today, like a husband who comes back from work earlier than usual, walks into a closed room unintentionally and catches the wife changing into a new dress, making her blush. Now you remember it was the soft rain during the day that lulled you into a soporific state after returning from college. The tea you sip soothes its way down, leaving a trail of clarity like barium caught on x-ray. Ahhh, you say, breathing in the cool evening air. Someone is filling the drums with water. It’s too cold to even think of washing your face. The radio plays this song, fittingly.