Tapovan Construction Chronicles

“We shouldn’t build, should we?” “Well… maybe just a room. Not a big one — something small, just enough to sweep with a broom.”

“But look across the lane, the neighbour’s gone up two floors!” “We are shorter than them — so we must go taller, of course.”

“Five feet of breathing space — such a generous gap.” “Five feet? What a waste! Two inches is more than enough — stick your nose out there and breathe. Try it.”

“But what about the people? The windows, the light, the air?” “People adjust, my friend, concrete is what’s fair.”

“Forty cafés already crowd this single dusty street.” “Yes, but ours will be different — one dish, one singer, new faces to meet.”

“A hundred guesthouses stand, two-fifty yoga schools. And why, oh why, should we be different? Everyone else builds — we can’t be the only fools.”

“So we agree it’s madness?” “Yes, we all know it’s true. But if the bandwagon is passing, we’ll climb on it too.”

And so the walls creep closer, the sky a thinner band. Rishikesh, once wide and open, is now construction land.

The Ganga ji still flows, but no longer to be seen from Tapovan, where she once was part of the dream.