It is an odd sort of night nearing summer solstice. Outside, everything lights up in flashes as bright as day as the magnificent branches of lightning strike further and further away. The rumble of thunder is growing more distant and the wind is calming down. The air smells beautiful, just like home during monsoon with just the right level of humidity and warmth. I rode home in this storm from work, stopped by the shops to refill my veggie and fruit stock. I haven’t cycled in rain like that since I was in high school going for Hindi tuitions, come rain, hail or shine. The sweet drops kissing my skin, the tepid breeze pushing back my hair. And though it was nearing ten, the sun still glowed through the western clouds. It was growing brighter there but right above me, the clouds were dark, almost black, lending an eerie element to the beauty of the night. Other people were walking around Earlier, at the office, the storm was right above us. There were less than three seconds between flashes and thunder and some thunder was so loud that the earth trembled. I find it thrilling. I remember as a child I was mere meters away from a lightning strike and a decade later, a bolt struck a tree in my garden. Now the storm has passed and the last blood of the sun stains the visible patches of the sky.