Sometimes I forget how blue the sky really is. My Noida sky is white, or grey, or dirty yellow at best, all the time. It is starvation for the eyes – to look up, and see a net of smoke drawn across the heights, like a ceiling. It stifles me. When the rains come, and the wind hurries the clouds before it, the sky peeks through – blue with the intensity of outer space and sun. It feels new to me, as if I had forgotten its face. And every single time, I promise to myself, “I won’t.”


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