“Which is your favourite season of the year?” He asked in his barbitone voice. His eyes held the familiar curiosity of an innocent child who wanted to imbibe every bit of information he can get about me. I marvelled at the coincidence as it was about to rain, though the summer did not end, yet. “I love the rain. I like it when the thunder scars the sky and roars through the swift wind. There is a moment of uncertainity before it rains. That is my most favourite time of the year. It is very dull and dim as if someone has cast his shadow...