The Trip
The balcony was a secluded affair. Small with just enough space to accommodate two chairs it looked meant for those moments in life when you forget about the existence of any other being except perhaps you and the person with you (if you are lucky enough to have someone with you that is). The view stretched out over the tin and slate rooftops to the mountain whose summit had vanished into the clouds. It was a sparkling green in color with pockets of darker green where perhaps the trees had crowded over too much. I sat with my pen and diary, as is my wont whenever I am traveling, ready to scribble whatever stray thought would enter my head. But both lay unused as I sat and looked at the rain falling from the sky, the rooftops, the leaves, the wires, the balcony grill. It seemed ironical that here I was on a beautiful hill station, in a secluded balcony, with the most romantic rainfall imaginable and no one to share it with. Why is life so unfair? My friends had hinted at just this when