Some Julys are wetter than others not because of the sky but because of what happened underneath it. The fevers weathered, the small hand held, the ordinary miracle of everyone waking up, at last, cool to the touch.
We moved to Mumbai at the beginning of monsoon season. The city arrived in my life already drenched — and slowly, through rain and books and Little Miss’s deeply held opinions about puddles, it is beginning to feel like home.