بال هادي

आज पिताजी हाट से लौटे तो उनके हाथ में एक टूटी साइकिल की घंटी थी, किसी ने फेंक दी थी। मैंने उसे ठीक करने की कोशिश की, और सोचने लगी... कॉमनवेल्थ गेम्स की मेडल तालिका पर तो अखबारों में बड़े-बड़े बायनेन्स दिखेंगे, पर कितने एथलीटों की ज़िंदगी में ऐसी टूटी घंटियाँ होती होंगी, जिन्हें वे खुद ही संभालते होंगे। क्या उनकी ट्रेनिंग का खर्च भी कभी डाटा पैक की तरह तंग करता होगा?

Aaj ek bhaiya bought bhuransh ki chutney, paused mid-bite and said his nani used the same stone-ground taste. My old mixer finally started again after I spent the morning cleaning its rusted blade with sandpaper – sometimes the broken thing just needs a patient hand, not a new market model.

My mother’s transistor radio stopped again yesterday, just static where the evening news should be — I spent an hour with a screwdriver and a bit of wire, and when her programme crackled back she laughed and said it was like ‘slawek’ clearing after rain. I had to show her the papers in my hand, the capacitor’s part number and the voltage reading, else she would have blamed the countryside ghosts again. It made me think how we trust what we can measure more than what we feel, but the proof is always in the one who gets to smile at the end — and that is my kur, not a statistic.

Sometimes I look up from my MPSC books in this paid study room, the fan clicking above, and think — all these attempts, three now, it feels like a market. The cut-off sorts out who studied, who didn't. My family stretches for the fees, but the rules are the same for everyone. That’s what feels fair, even when it’s hard.

Arre bhai, yeh Education Minister log big schools ke liye sochta hai, par mere jaisa chhota aadmi apne pote ko ek kya diya hai? Uske liye Doodh ka price bada hai, protein powder ka toh kya bolu! Mera rasta — old school bodybuilding, sab ko jo chahiye woh do, chahe chhota kettlebell ho ya khaali dhama ka maal. Aaj unhone kaha "quality education for all", par mera sawaal: sab ke paas utna time aur paisa hai kya? Ya phir se koi lucky wala hi lega? Chaalo, majja karo, par achha dhyaan rakho — body aur mind dono ki.

My student’s mother called yesterday to say she can’t afford the monthly fee anymore, because they’ve been told Adarsh Baal Vidyalaya is ‘better’ — even if it means an hour-long bus ride each way for a six-year-old and no instrument class. Sngewbha, they say, but I wonder what it feels like for a child who just wants to sit on the veranda with her violin after school, not a ‘better’ school that makes her too tired to hold the bow.

Arre, yeh 'Cockroach Janta Party' sunke mujhe apni parlour ka woh purana AC yaad aa gaya—uska filter saaf nahi karwaya toh usmein bhi aise hi kuch log ghus jaate hain, bas apna kaam karte hain, kisi ko pata bhi nahi chalta. Lekin Zainab kehti hai, "Ammi, yeh toh zindagi ki tarah hai—jo chipke rehte hain, wohi zinda rehte hain, lekin unka bhi hisaab rakhna padta hai." Mein toh kehti hoon, iss desh mein har koi apna parlour chala raha hai, koi AC ki bill mein doob raha hai, koi loan mein—par in sab ka data toh dekho pehle, phir decide karo kaun zyada nakli hai. Bas, ek din toh sach saamne aayega, na?

Sunlight is hitting the mango pickle jars just right, and I'm thinking—this Odyssey film, bas yaar, it's like my father's journey from the market to this little kitchen. Twenty years of spices and sweat, one batch at a time, no shortcuts. I don't need a big screen to know that the real epic is the clatter of that pressure cooker at 7 PM, telling us we made it through another day.

बेटा, सुन। रोज़ सुबह गुरुद्वारे जाते वक़्त मैं देखता हूँ कि कपड़े की एक सीधी धारी भी अगर टेढ़ी सी जाए, तो पूरा सलवार सूट बिगड़ जाता है। तेरा दिल भी उसी टांके जैसा है — अगर एक-आध दिन ढीला पड़ जाए, तो मत घबरा। लुधियाने वाला मेरा मुंडा भी कभी-कभी तीन दिन फोन नहीं करता, लेकिन दिवाली पर एक मीठी गुलाब जामुन लेकर ज़रूर आता है। थोड़ा सब्र रख, बेटा; जैसे पुरानी मशीन को तेल डालने से ठीक होने में वक़्त लगता है, वैसे ही तू भी अपनी रफ़्तार को ठीक होने दे।

mohalle ke ek uncle ne kaha ki naye mall mein branded shops aayengi, toh maine unko last hafte ki dukaan ki earning dikhayi. agar hum aam ka panna bech bandh karenge, toh bachche kahan jaayenge? kya bolta hai?

आज एक ब्रॅंडेड शर्ट आला, त्याचे बटण खूप सुंदर होते पण फक्त एकच तुटले होते. माझ्या जुन्या बटण बॉक्समध्ये तशा काळ्या मोत्यासारख्या पाच बटणा पासून होत्या, पण ती शिवताना लक्षात आले की नवीन बटण जुन्यापेक्षा अगदी एक मिलिमीटर लहान आहे — हा कंपनीचा चाल आहे ना, काहीही जुने बसू नये म्हणून.

The electricity bill came this morning, and I sat there adding up digits like it’s a maths exam I didn’t study for — same dard as last month, just a different number. Then Ammi started humming that old Ilaiyaraaja tune from *Sagara Sangamam* while she fried the mirchi, and for a few minutes the figures blurred into something lighter. I don’t have the cure for any of it, but I think that’s what this room is for — just letting someone hear the weight without rushing to fix it.

The quiet half-hour after we close the stall, when the last steam from the momo pots fades and it’s just me and my father sharing one cup of sweet tea by the charcoal embers — that’s the only theory that’s ever held up for me. Everyone tells me to plan for a big career in the city, but thik ase, I’d rather learn how to keep the pork filling just right and trust that this village knows something the textbooks don’t. Some days the weight of everything feels like a full bamboo basket on your back, but that

bol. last night after another nine hours of the same circuits problem, i sat on the porch watching the bougainvillea leaves shiver in the wind. the streetlight flickered twice before giving up, and i thought, that's exactly how my brain feels — like a sambar of old formulas and deadlines. but my mother brought me a cutting of our neighbour's new tilak plant, and somehow, pressing that leaf between my thumb and finger slowed the whole world down. hope you find your leaf today, even under the streetlight that's gone out.

The night shift was long, beta, but I saw the sun rise over the mountains as I watered my marigolds. Sometimes the small, solid things—like these blooms in an old container—hold you steady when the big numbers in the fee booklet make your heart race.

The southwest corner of my terrace leaks every monsoon, and this year I finally fixed it with a bit of tin sheet and some old prayer. The neighbor’s boy asked why I didn’t call a proper mason, and I told him—sometimes the cheapest way is to do it yourself, and that’s not a theory, it’s just what my Appa always did. It held through last night’s rain, and my curry leaf plant stayed dry. I think that counts as a small victory worth holding onto.

Kum kum ki student ki ong "Teacher, phi leh kumno ban shong suk?"—nga shem ia ka jingim kum kane ka pebble uba nga shem ha lynti: ka don ka jingstad bad ka jingbha, hynrei ka donkam ka jingmut ban ia kynduh. Ha ka shkoll, nga hikai ia ki khun ba dei ban wad ia ka j

Bhaiti, last night I was stuck on a permutation problem that felt like it was personally designed to mock me. Gave up, went to the balcony with Ma and her chai—she didn't say anything about the exam, just pointed at the fireflies in the paddy field. That half-hour, no formulas, no cut-offs, just fireflies. Best preparation I've done all week, bhaal lagise.

Our new Education Minister will have my prayers, but also my impatience. You see, the syllabus at the college still carries no notation for the Limbu flute's scales. Another delay means another batch of my old cassettes decays while we wait, and another reason for our children to think their own mountains have no song.

Yesterday I mended little Binod’s school radio, and as I tested the soldering, the news on the air turned to RSS. It made me think of our community centre’s leaking roof—asbestos from a different time, a different idea of strength. Real swayam sewa, I feel, is stitching up what’s torn right here, so the children’s laughter doesn’t get dampened by the next monsoon.

নাও, সেই মন্ত্রীজি—ধর্মেন্দ্র প্রধান—আবার বলছেন "skill India" আর "digital hospital" এর কথা। গতকাল রাতে মণিপুরের জেলা হাসপাতালে আমার ward duty তে এক বুড়ো কুমারী মায়ের BP নিচ্ছিলাম, তার ছেলে স্কুলের ইউনিফর্ম পরে এসে বলল, "মা, কম্পিউটার ক্লাসের জন্য টাকা লাগবে।" এই মন্ত্রীজির উন্নয়ন হয়তো দিল্লির পাহাড়ে চড়ে, কিন্তু এখানে এখনো IV ফ্লুইডের বোতলের উপর রোগীর নাম কলম দিয়ে লিখতে হয়। আমার বোন ইম্ফলে ফার্মেসি ডিগ্রির জন্য লাইনে দাঁড়িয়ে থাকে, আর সরকার বলে "ডিজিটাল হেলথ"—আমি তো বলি, আগে ওয়ার্ডে একটা ফ্যান ঠিক করে দাও, তাহলে বুঝবো প্রগতি আসলেই এসেছে।

My terraces are tired, yaar—soil feeling older than me, and I’m no spring chicken. This season I counted every apple that dropped early, like a doctor checking a patient’s pulse. Waise, if the data from the university says we need three years of rest, maybe I listen. But who rests when the bank calls?

बस यूँ ही सोच रहा था, कल जब बच्चों को स्कूल छोड़कर लौट रहा था तो गुलमोहर के नीचे पुराने रिक्शेवाले मियाँ बता रहे थे कि 'धमाल 4' की शूटिंग लखनऊ में होगी। मेरे छोटे ने तो फौरन पूछ लिया—"अ

The new line supervisor showed us the automation video yesterday. I watched that robot arm move so smooth, like it never coughs from powder dust. But I told him, "Bhai, who will know when the motor starts sounding sick on Tuesday afternoon?" My daughter's hibiscus bloomed red this morning — that flower does not care about any machine.