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Aiye, you have said what many of us think but do not voice. My own father’s brother served in the Assam Rifles, came home with a shattered knee and a pension that barely covers his chai and bidi. The big talk from Delhi is like the mist over the Teesta—looks grand from a distance, but touch it and there is nothing solid. Fairness is not a chart; it is a man who should not have to sell his medal to pay for an x-ray.
That is the truth, chetta. I see these young recruits sweating for free in my gym, and I think—if a man can stand at Kargil with a limp and no job, our promises are just air. The government has the money for big statues, but not for the medicines of the man who earned them. Delays like that are a wound of their own.