The lane that had been smeared with rangoli powders all morning now emptied upward. Steps thudded, sandals slapped against stairs, and rooftops across the street filled like grandstands before a match.
Children burst out first, each clutching reels bigger than their arms. Teenagers followed with bundles of kites tucked under armpits, shouting challenges before the first spool was tied. Mothers leaned out of balconies with trays of sweets, passing them up with strict warnings: "Don't fight on the roof! Don't fall! And don't come back crying if your kite is cut!"
The drones tilted skyward, their lenses whirring. Holoscreens reoriented, shifting from dusty courtyards to bright rooftop edges, projecting sweeping views of reels being checked and kites being unfolded.
Ajja, planted firmly in his chair below, raised his mic like a cricket commentator warming up.
"Ladies and gentlemen of our lane! The ground show is over, the real game begins in the sky! Secure your sweets, tie your threads tight, because today we'll see who rules the wind!"
The crowd on the balconies cheered. Children squealed, tugging impatiently at reels.
Kalki stood with his gang — Arun and Bhaskar ready with their spools, Dev bouncing from foot to foot as if his kite could fly without him touching it. Ananya lingered near the edge, hair catching in the breeze, while Leela and Meera appeared with their own bundles, already grinning like they owned the sky.
The air was thick with energy — rooftops alive, holoscreens buzzing, neighbors shouting across terraces. The festival had climbed upward.
A loud drone dropped from the sky, flashing in bold letters across the holoscreens: "OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT."
Ajja, already grinning like a ringmaster, thumped his staff. "Silence, silence! This is not just for fun. This is a battle for honor, pride, and most importantly…"
He leaned into the hovering mic.
"…money!"
The holoscreens flared with bright digits: ₹1,00,000.
The rooftops erupted. Kids jumped, teenagers whistled, even a few uncles who swore they had "retired from kite battles" suddenly leaned forward, eyes sparkling.
Raghav Uncle stepped up with his ledger, clearing his throat like a banker about to announce interest rates. "Prize amount: one lakh rupees. Sponsored by our Residents' Welfare Association and matched by local businesses."
Gasps rolled across the rooftops.
Valli Aunty held up a gleaming spool, gold foil shimmering in the sun. "Along with the Golden Reel Trophy!"
Ajja added the sweetener: a giant box of Mysore pak, swinging it above his head. "And unlimited sweets for the winners!"
The balconies thundered. Bets flew instantly.
"Five hundred on the Firebirds!"
"Two thousand on the Nerd Gang — those boys don't miss calculations."
"Don't waste your money, Qalist boys will cut them all!"
Ajja scribbled wagers into a pad, acting both commentator and bookie, cackling as the betting fever swept rooftops.
Then Raghav Uncle raised his hand for quiet. "Now the rules! This is not a street brawl. It is a contest of skill and wind."
He ticked them off, one by one:
No blades, no glass-coated threads. Traditionally, some kite fighters coat their lines with crushed glass to slice opponents. That is banned here — too dangerous.
No stones or metal tied to kites. In some places, people add weights or sharp bits to gain advantage. Not allowed.
Thread against thread only. Victory comes by cutting the other kite's line, not by smashing or tearing the kite directly.
No rooftop fights. Once your kite is cut, you cannot jump into your neighbor's terrace and start pulling theirs.
Fair play enforced by drones. Every clash is tracked and replayed — the holoscreens decide disputes.
He closed the ledger. "Last kite in the sky wins. It doesn't matter if you cut ten or a hundred. Only the survivor matters."
The lane groaned as one.
"No glass thread? That's half the thrill!"
"No rooftop fights? Then what's the point!"
"Rules are rules," Raghav Uncle snapped.
Ajja chuckled into his mic. "Complain later, win now. Let the sky decide your strength!"
And with that, the drums rolled. Reels spun. The festival was about to leave the rooftops and climb into the sky.
The first drumbeat rolled, deep and steady, echoing across the lane. Then another, faster. The rooftops answered with a cheer as the first spools began to spin.
Threads hissed through calloused fingers. Brown paper kites, diamond-shaped and sharp, were lifted high against the sun. With a shout, half a dozen rose at once, catching the wind like sails.
The drones tilted upward, chasing them into the blue. On the holoscreens, the sky bloomed.
One kite burst bright red, another deep green, another painted with a yellow sun. A box-shaped kite wobbled but held steady. From the far corner, a boy's kite twinkled with tiny LEDs, flashing as it climbed.
"Look, look at the tail!" someone shouted as a long streamer ribbon, nearly twenty feet, snapped in the wind like a dragon's tongue.
Soon there were dozens. Bright patches of color climbed, dived, and tugged, lines stretching taut. The rooftops came alive with cheers and gasps. It was no longer one lane — the whole sky was their playground.
Ajja's voice boomed over it all. "Ahhh, and the sky awakens! Red Diamond climbing from Square Ten! Look at that Blue Streak — straight as an arrow! And—oh ho! — that one is already stuck on the electric pole! Minus points for bad piloting!"
The holoscreens replayed a tangled kite flapping hopelessly against a wire. Laughter shook the balconies.
Children leaned over railings, hands cupped to mouths as they shouted support. Neighbors pointed out favorites. Bets shifted as fast as reels. Every rooftop felt like part of the same giant stadium.
Amma shouted from below, "Dev, don't lean over the edge or I'll tie you to the pillar!"
"Ammaaa, it's fine!" Dev shouted back, his eyes glued to the sky. His hands worked the reel awkwardly, his kite dipping dangerously close to a rooftop before catching a gust and soaring up again.
The blue above, once empty, now pulsed with life — flashes of color darting, tails whirling, threads singing in the wind. The real battle hadn't even begun, and still the air buzzed with the promise of war.