Our village sent two boys to Kargil, both from the apple belt. One came back, the other’s name is on the war memorial at the bus stand — I pass it every time I go to town for tuition. Baba keeps a faded newspaper clipping of the victory, but I see the way he stares at the orchard loan papers on the same shelf. Hard to trust a government that sends your sons to the heights but can’t fix the price of a kilo of apples.
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