It is the end of May. May is usually one of the hottest months here in kolkata, but this year it wasn't so bad. The norwesters were unusually regular and every other hot day, brought a stormy rainy evening with it. Not that every storm was followed by the rain. Sometimes during the storm the winds would rage with such fury that it blew away all the rain clouds. But after a long hot day, even those winds were welcome. To all the weary people returning from work in the evening, these winds seemed to bear the message that after the hard day under the sun, a comfortable sleep awaited them in the bosom of the night. However, on some lucky days, the rains would come, riding on the winds to quench the thirst of the city. Then the winds would howl and prowl along the temporarily deserted city roads pushing the last few pedestrians off the road and into a shelter; and the rains would fall in long mourns. As if the rains were mourning the damage that the sun had done to the city and all its inhabitants. On those evenings it seemed that the winds were like a mighty troop of soldiers sent to fight summer. It destroyed every remnant of the horrors of the preceding days while guarding the city gates against the entry of a long suffocating night. And the rains seemed like a fairy godmother who reciting her charms, sometimes softly like a lullaby and sometimes loudly like a wail, was trying to repair the wounds caused by the cruel blows of the summer sun. And then there were days when neither the fairy godmother nor her gallant troop of soldiers came to the rescue. On those days the evil summer queen had her way with the city, and after an excruciatingly hot day she would gift the city with an intolerable suffocating night. On those days, sleep was hard to come by. Not a breeze blew, not a leaf stirred, and everyone tossed and turned in their beds in hope of sleep which eluded their tired eyes. And the smell of sweat and stench hung in the air. And when finally a cool dawn, unblemished by summer, peaked along the horizon, the exhausted city would be lulled into short-lived siesta, only to be woken up by the nagging duties and pressing issues that had been considerate enough to go for a walk during the night time. Then the city would wake up again, like an angry giant whose sleep was disturbed, shaking away the last bit of tiredness from its body, so that it can chase away the culprit that brought its happy sleep to an its unhappy end. Slowly but surely the city starts working with the blazing sun blowing fire down its neck, knowing that only hardwork’s perspiration goes to make the fairy godmother rain. And as the evening approaches, the city eagerly waits for dusk, for along the folds of her colourful gown and up her long flowing sleeves she holds fruits of the day’s toils. She wears a gown of golden yellow touched with the purest red, when she comes with her friend rain. And when she brings the winds along, she wears mauve gown embroidered with gold and blue. But when she comes alone she spreads her navy blue gown over the city, consoling them that this is just the quiet before the storm.