Kolkata My City 4 (A Rainy Day in Kolkata**)

Against a bruised, rain-laden sky, the yellow taxis flare like small embers of persistence, their saturated warmth refusing to be swallowed by the city’s ashen haze. The sweeping curve of the flyover pulls the eye forward in a gentle inevitability, while the receding cars become echoes of the self—each one a departure, a repetition, a promise of elsewhere. The lonely “STOP” sign stands not as an instruction but as a muted moral counterpoint, a pause the world refuses as it slides onward through mist, motion, and subdued longing.