The rain.
Dark clouds, and a cold wind. Walking through wet grass and slush. The first few drops wetting the ground, falling on my palm, sending the skinny dogs running for cover. Then they fall faster and faster, drenching me and everything else in sight - blurring my vision, and sharpening the senses.
The rain is my first vivid memory of the place opposite Katwaria Sarai.
It leaves its cool, wet touch on all that has happened since we arrived. The night of the freshers' party; that afternoon of rollicking 'pittoo' on the football field in torrential downpour; the scurry to the morning classes under overcast skies; and the sipping of hot chai with pakoras or samosas in the evenings dark with the promise of rain.
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