I dont think "hate is a strong word"

it rains in every month; no aftermath, no forewarning, 

you sleep to one weather condition,

wake up to a different one in the morning.

seasons don't mean much.

I hate it here.

you can't take electricity for granted,

auto drivers have a death wish,

house numbers leave you questioning your common sense,

streets are numbered counterintuitively.

I hate it here.

bars are full on weekday afternoons,

metro pillars under construction simply collapse,

and if they collapse on you, strangers want nothing to do with it.

I hate it here.

in april, when it rains at sunset time -

not with a lot of conviction -

dripping tree leaves work as a sieve

for sunlight, as it falls on wet dark roads

half-submerged in fallen sonmohar flowers.

yellow becomes golden.

I hate it here...a little less.