finally, the rain

and the skies will yawn, opening up, grey and menacing. and they will spill water in sheets, grey sheets, fine droplets falling slowly, smoothly, to meet the heaving, seething seas. and the two will merge, and rise, and breathe as if with life, shaking and laughing and playing little games with waves and white foam. and the grey sea and sheets of water will decide to bathe the world and wipe it clean. and they will both rise, suddenly, without warning, while we sleep and dream of islands in the sea. and mumbai will be swallowed whole, bite by bite, without chewing. and the buildings will crumble like soft biscuits, and we will sink to the bottom of the ocean, our sleep undisturbed, now never to be disturbed. and still the water will rise, and eat up the world, leaving nothing behind and sinking back into itself when all is finished. in its wake, a brand new patch of green, green grass, sparkling under the sun, and a little white rabbit, looking up, stunned, wondering what to do next. and god will call that rabbit, 'lindsay'. the story begins.