He has wanted "a name for the sun in this waterlogged archipelago of ours, as it bounces off all sundry shining things"; he had wanted to remember sunlight..."but the streets flood with the carbon-stained cocktail gurgling out of the canals, sloshed by the rotting imported second-hand buses stalled in the gridlock induced by the cloudburst...(and) The monsoon always catches up with me." Will the poet see the sun and be happy? Join him- this "permeable fool of the monsoon"- as he travels from "a doomed speel of dryness, clear skies and kite fights,"from " days numbered in dry season light,"to"The grey hour...the humid hour..."when "The vanished faces beckon,/The vanished voices whisper,/Come hither, and remember." ...And enjoy the many curious little detours, the out-of-the-way places, inbetween. And you'll probably regret it.