Now the bitodas of my adoptive state Haryana fill me with a sure and serene joy in India's ability to create order out of chaos. They are marvels of art and engineering, they could outnose Cleopatra's Needle or any Egyptian obelisk. They have corners and angles, crowns, patterns and personality. Someday I shall write a monograph (reductivist, naturally, as befits a mere bazaar writer; besides, I want people to read it) on The Alternative Bitoda or Nobody Told Me You Could Stack It That High.
But the bitodas of Awadh lacked refinement, they detrimentally escaped those nawabi graces that once lent so much tone to Awadh's everyday life. Squat and misshapen, they leaned any which way in boorish carelessness. It boded ill for eager journeyists like me.
