In this neighbourhood, buildings are trees. Across the fish market, sentries guard ‘Pine leaves’. ‘Rapunzel’ is not ready. Reddish-brown bushes hide its make-shift toilet, where masons move like shadows. Rich loam is infectious. I would like to grow too. Rise high With sacks and sacks of sand and cement.

The noticeboard near the lift reads, ‘Those who ruminate, shall enter with memories of watching Saajan in 1991, churning adolescence, at their own risk.’ People run between tracks, as the train comes close. Someone cautions me, I step back. On the other side of the crossing, there are posters full of love. One, two, three,…