From the top of the tower, the city spread out in every direction—a shifting mass of rooftops, alleyways, and movement.

A priest had brought me here, leading me up the winding tower steps to this overlook.

The view had cost extra.

~

From this height, the noise softened, and the crush of bodies became distant.

Below me, Old Delhi twisted like threads through tightly packed buildings.

Rickshaws and cars crawled, their horns blending into a constant hum.

Clusters of people moved like currents, flowing through markets and intersections.

The rooftops stood like a patchwork of colors—faded reds, dusty browns, and the occasional bright tarp stretched across a terrace, each interrupted by the permanent shadow of plastic water barrels.

Smoke rose in thin columns from cooking fires.

Laundry hung between buildings, fluttering in the hot air.

Higher still, kites flew in the evening breeze—tails stretched behind, their strings leading to the houses.

In the distance, the Red Fort broke skyline, while Jama Masjid’s domes and minarets rose proudly nearby.

Standing atop one of them, they anchored me to the city. Massive and still, its walls enclosing a quiet space from the restless city.

Looking down again, the streets that had felt identical from the ground now separated into distinct markets.

One stretch was filled entirely with cardboard boxes stacked high.

Another shimmered with rows of greeting cards.

Further along, metal glinted from hardware stalls, and beyond that, piles of rickshaw parts formed uneven rows.

Each block repeated itself, vendor after vendor selling the same goods, lined up with relentless uniformity.

~

I raised my camera. Then felt the priest’s hand on my own.

“No pictures.”

Yeah, I hadn’t paid for that.