9/29/2013

THE RAIN IN ALLAHABAD.

I was listlessly flipping through the pages of the prospectus when the clap of thunder stole away the light in my room or rather from the entire Allahabad. Only the generator-installed kitchen beneath our floor was thriftily lit and the workers were busily engrossed in preparing lunch. The roasted-scent of rotis in the air found their way into my room, making my stomach growl even louder on encountering the stimulus.

Opening the door to my balcony, I could see the busy cooks- rolling bigger dough, pressing the rotis into shape in between their palms and eventually frying it in the hot-boiling oil. Some of them were peeling off the boiled potatoes while others were grinding the spices as the odour of garlic filled the congested kitchen.