They said today, the monsoon will arrive in the first week of
June. Like it always does. We outlast summer because we know
the wet will come. We survive the rains because we know that
by Diwali, the clouds will begin their retreat. We get through the
festive season because the cold numbs our fevered brow. In April,
the first mangoes will ripen in the sun. There is always another
season. There is always another reason. One more transformation. One
more repetition. Our mortality is never in question as long as the variables
are constant. It is the unchanging that we fear. A forever downpour.
An endless summer. A predictable love. A world refusing to fall apart.
