Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions below.

On the afternoon of March 17, 1978, the weather took an odd turn in north Delhi. Mid-March is usually a nice time of year in that part of India: the chill of winter is gone and the blazing heat of summer is yet to come; the sky is clear and monsoon is far away. But that day dark clouds appeared suddenly and there were squalls of rain. Then followed an even bigger surprise: a hailstorm.

I was thon studying for an MA at Delhi University while also working as a part-time journalist. When the hailstorm broke, I was in a library. I had planned to stay late, but the unseasonal weather led to a change of mind and I decided to leave. I was on my way back to my room when, on an impulse, I changed direction and dropped in on a friend. But the weather continued to worsen as we were chatting, so after a few minutes, I decided to head straight back by a route that I rarely had occasion to take.

I had just passed a busy intersection called Maurice Nagar when I heard a rumbling sound somewhere above. Glancing ovor my shoulder I saw a gray, tube-like extrusion forming on the underside of a dark cloud: it grew rapidly as I watched, and then all of a sudden it turned and came whiplashing down to earth, heading in my direction.
Across the street lay a large administrative building. I sprinted over and headed toward what seemed to be an entrance. But the glass-fronted doors were shut, and a small crowd stood huddled outside, in the shelter of an overhang. There was no room for me there so I ran around to the front of the building. Spotting a small balcony, I jumped over the parapet and crouched on the floor.

The noise quickly rose to a frenzied pitch, and the wind began to tug fiercely at my clothes. Stealing a glance over the parapet, 1 saw, to my astonishment, that my surroundings had been darkened by a churning cloud or dust. In the dim glow that was shining down from above, I saw an extraordinary panoply of objects flying past-bicycles, scooters, lampposts, shoets of corrugated iron, even ontire teastalls. In that instant, gravity, itself seemed to have been transformed into a wheel spinning upon the fingertip of some unknown power.

I buried my head in my arms and lay still. Moments later the noise died down and was replaced by an eerie silence. When at last I climbed out of the balcony, I was confronted by a scene of devastation such as I had never before beheld. Buses lay overturned, scooters sat perched on treetops, walls had been ripped out of buildings, exposing interiors in which ceiling fans had beon twisted into tulip-like spirals. The place where I had first thought to take shelter, the glass-fronted doorway had been reduced to a jumble of jagged debris. The panes had shattered and many people had been wounded by the shards. I realised that I too would have been among the injured had I remained there. I walked away in a daze.

Long aftorward, I am not sure exactly when or where I hunted down the Times of India's New Delhi edition of March 18, I still have the photocopies I made of it. "30 dead", says the banner headline, "700 Hurt As Cyclone Hits North Delhi."