Acha, so the doctors say it's the salted tea and smoked meats in Kashmir, and the betel nuts in the north-east. But yaar, in my own childhood in Bihar, we had none of those things, and my mama still passed from it. What I saw was the worry—the constant strain of making ends meet that burns inside you hotter than any mirch. My own worry now is the price of ghee, and I feel that same old heat in my chest when I see the bill. Sometimes, I think the body cooks its own trouble from the inside, fed by a life of small, hard struggles.
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