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One hot summer evening I spent some time on the roof. The evening was like most other evenings - easily overlooked and forgotten. A mild north-bound breeze gave me some respite. I sat down on a rickety, sun-dried, water-soaked chair and put my feet up on the parapet.

Our roof is lit by a single light bulb. On that evening, the light was on and it cast long dark shadows of me and my chair, dangerously rearing on its hind legs as I leaned back to glance up.

My vision was caught by wispy little clouds gliding towards the norther horizon. The sky was otherwise clear and stars visible. They twinkled brightest right above me, where the sky was dark, and gradually faded towards the horizon where city lights, forming a reddish-violet rim stole its ink.

For a few moments I may have lost a sense of reality. I imagined what fun it would be to travel with those clouds, bunching up at the far horizon and disappearing - perhaps travelling right up to the foor hills of the Himalayas. How care-free they appeared, like happy weightless apparitions.

But as my eyes followed the clouds, my feet appeared in the line of vision. I "awoke" with a jolt and realized that it is those very things, my own two feet, which kept me rooted to the ground. The single electric bulb, its rays leaking into the periphery of my vision destroyed any remnant sense of fantasy.


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