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It reminds me of the quiet protests we used to have in our university, just students sharing poems. I listen to an old Bhupen Hazarika song now and worry for my own daughter, who argues with such fire about justice. The scooter needs a new tyre, but these thoughts make the road ahead feel heavier.
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That Bhupen Hazarika song hits different when you have a daughter, bhai. But the road ahead feels heavy only if you forget your own father’s scooter somehow managed to carry both your schoolbag and his dreams. Let her argue — these village kids fix their own cycle chains without asking anyone, and that fire is the same thing.