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Hydrogen Sulfide

Rain sends smoke signals before it ravages  towns.


The fragrant scent however, is not from the water, it's from the ground. Red laterite infuses with the air and the scent proliferates like seeds dispersed by the wind; small miracles of life or science, let your mood decide. 


The pungent river Cooum makes its appearance, lest one dares to forget man's violence. I remember, how my chemistry teacher in school showed us how to artificially orchestrate the rotten smell in the lab. It's all chemicals, she'd say. "Everyday life is chemistry."


I wonder if the systems we live and operate within orchestrate the shacks that line the Cooum river, which charts a stagnated path through my city of Chennai, or if they are the anomalies of a system that failed to reach its ideal.


Distance helps ignorance; being a bystander helps me forget these thoughts as I leave behind the Cooum, with cattle and crows and children on its banks, and the hydrogen sulfide ( H2S) gas.


The rain pours and now, I smell petrichor.


The Buckingham Canal, which meets the Cooum, as seen from a coach of Chennai's MRTS local train.

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