It was yet another beautiful sunset. As the evening sun approached the horizon, it painted the sky in a mix of orange and purple hues. A painter would marvel at this extraordinary display of colours and would yearn to put it down on canvas. Equally eager, a poet would take inspiration from the beautiful sky and pen down some romantic lines. But, among the inhabitants of this village, art or beauty had no takers. All that their hungry bellies and insecure minds worried about, day in and day out, was survival. They wanted money; they wanted food; they wanted a fair chance to earn their livelihood, so they could feed their families with pride. Rain, which could give them that chance, had eluded them thus far. They had been waiting for those dark dense clouds for so long that the mere sight of sun, however beautiful, felt like a curse from Heavens.

– Chapter “The Annual Disasters”