Born in the rainfall

She gaped down one more time at her first child whom she just gave birth to, in a room that was flushed with tubelights. The baby girl looked like her father, she thought, as she imagined her husband back home with an uneven garden outside, unaware of his new born.
She held her baby close to her arms as she lied on the hospital bed wrapped with white sheet.
It was a season of rainfall, June. Mid of Monday night, past 12:00 AM. Through the related grids of the hospital window, she saw men hasten on the roads with their umbrellas as it rained heavily. Two or three men stood under the roof of unplastered shops. Soft lamp from a stall remained alight as the vendor sat on a stool by it. White ambassador cars moved with their headlights on, wheeling over the flowing rain water onto the sidewalk.
The lightening had stopped. It was silently pouring, through the roofs, drenching all the old buildings of Puttur.
And she looked at the baby again, whom she just gave birth to, who looked just like her father.


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