The old jheel was a jheel only for the old namesake. It must have been so in the old days, but now for all purpose and poise, it was as flattened a piece of earth as a palm. The favourite and only place in the otherwise congested JJ Colony for Wasi and his friends to hang around and play. Whenever they were not in school, they were at the old jheel, playing cricket, marbles, running and catching, and what not. It was here, on one fine morning, where Wasi saw it for the first time in his life.
‘Wasi, come. There is a bulldozer at our jheel,’ Asif and Sahu blurted out in unison, out of breath and half bent, with their hands on their knees, furiously huffing and puffing to take in as much breath as they could.