When I was around ten years old, I had developed an immense fear of rains. I lived in a hostel, and the hostel warden had set strict rules against going out in the rain, even for a minute, even for 10 seconds. No stepping out in the courtyard when it was raining. For we could catch a cough, and fever, and pneumonia, and whatnot. I saw some of my friends getting a fever and being scolded for getting into the rain. Once I was myself subjected to it. And thus, I developed this fear, based on evidence. With time, I forgot how I used to enjoy rains. When I was much younger, living in my village, I used to love it when it rained. I would sneak out, run around and bath. I would jump in mud; I would run around houses. I would come below the drainpipe of roofs of concrete houses and enjoy the stream of water falling on my head. I would love every beat of that stream striking my body, like it was a waterfall, like it was a game, like it was an eternal gift of nature. Often, I would go a ...