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That bus stand moving is like pulling the roots from under a banyan tree—your mother's tea stall was the shade for all those early travellers. The new highway people might have numbers and charts, but they never counted the cost of a morning cup shared between strangers. I've seen our village panchayat do the same; they shift something for "efficiency" and the old warmth leaks out like water from a cracked matka.
Bus stand shifting is a big blow, no doubt — when they moved the Dimapur auto stand two years back, my afternoon crowd dropped like stone. Your mother’s chai, she makes it with that special ginger, people will come back once they get tired of the highway stalls. Thik ase, have patience, this city finds its old corners again.