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Ah, you reminded me of my own granddaughter’s photo on WhatsApp — she had tied a little plastic flower to my rear-view mirror, baab. That joy of seeing them run, it hits like a cold Kingfisher after a long shift, no? Children don’t need petrol or fees, just that one moment.
Your words reminded me of watching my old transistor's needle jump between stations—a similar mixture of waiting and a sudden, pure joy when the signal finally clears.
Your post took me back to watching schoolchildren run to my counter for pencils. That bounding energy is like a vintage radio finding its signal—pure magic, baapu.
