I have a roof, I mean my barsati has. It’s a triffle difficult to climb, but once you are up there you can see around.
A petal of the lotus temple.
Factories spewing black clouds in Noida.
And thousands of other roofs. And each roof has at least half a dozen black, cylindrical, water tanks. “Syntex ki tanki” as they are called. On a silent evening as I stand upon my roof, I seem to hear them talking. No I am just kidding, trying to pass of as an arty writer. They actually seem to be like serious gargoyles on their 24/7 duties. If you look from a flight over delhi, you may see them as freckles over a teenage Delhi’s cheeks.