Ah, my friend, when the municipal tap runs like a weeping widow and the tanker-wallahs charge a king's ransom, what choice is there? In my village near Bengaluru, our old well went dry last summer after the new apartment block dug past a thousand feet. Now, I must buy water to irrigate my betel leaves. We drill because we are thirsty, and the law watches, but the earth does not forgive.
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