Our pressure cooker was whistling at five this morning, and I was thinking about Sonam Wangchuk. His Ladakh is not my Uttarakhand, yaar, but that same stubborn cold creeps into our bones here too—my father’s pension barely covers the LPG cylinder now, and I’m rationing the dal because the market rate for toor shot up again. Meanwhile, the news channels show him on that long march, and I just sit here with my dog, wondering if the government will ever see that a mountain farmer’s survival is not a statistic, but a daily juggling act with a leaking roof and a single bulb.
#italy#childcare
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