Precipitation

Lying awake once again at 7 AM I heard what sounded like the scattered violence of rain drops getting demolished against the outside of my hotel window. Rain? It wasn't even cloudy, not that I could tell anyway. I had been out late the night before and the weather had cooperated splendidly.

I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes and ran downstairs and out the door to the smiling chagrin of my hotel's staff who hurry to hold wide the door as I thank them and blaze past. Taking a few steps into the street I am a little disappointed there is not the usual crush of cars and pedestrian traffic. Picture the London paintings you've seen with taxis headlights reflecting off the wet pavement and gleaming buildings in the background. Not here, not today. At least not yet.

Taking to the strangely silent streets off in some direction I don't recall going down before I found the whole atmosphere to be in stark contrast to everything I had experienced up until this point: peaceful, soothing, refreshing. It seemed for now at least that Mumbai had traded in her 'E' ticket ride for a relaxing soak in a bubbling hot tub with Beethoven dancing in the air; and the distinct smell of something good (and different) cooking for breakfast.