The water is finally falling on our heads. I love rains. Especially the water part. The mud part I find very dirty. This year, when our weather department promised a "normal monsoon" I was very happy, waiting eagerly for it. But my farmer friend was wiser. He told me it will rain late. He knows how to read trees, animals, and skies, you see.

He is now near Delhi, this friend of mine. Labouring and constructing in a place called Ghaziabad. I thought he would be happy, travelling to such big cities. I too want to travel. Yesterday I got news of my friend who is very sad. "Come back", I said. "For what?" my friend asked. All his crops were spoiled, you see. Keeping up with modern days, he grows rice in his two acres of land. The government buys it from him. Earlier he used to grow jowar and bajra. But those are old-fashioned now. He tells me there are many farmers labouring in Delhi. I am wondering why these farming people are suffering when rice and wheat are such good crops? There are many questions that need answering in my head.