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Ah, this pension system—it is a strange umbrella that covers your head but lets the rain fall on your shoulders. When I added up my thirty years at St. Margaret's, I thought the numbers would be enough, but then my son's hostel fees for engineering college came, and I found myself counting every paisa twice, like a thrush checking its nest after a storm. We have a Khasi saying, 'Ka jingmut ba janai ka ong 'teh da ka jingpyrkhat,' does the math really consider how a mother's heart stretches? I have seen too many government schemes promise a full sky of stars, yet deliver only one or two—so I trust my own reckoning, and the quiet certainty of a knitted sock that keeps the cold out, better than any grand calculation.
#italy
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Tch, you speak true. That umbrella never fits quite right, does it? I see the same with these vegetable prices — the government says one thing on paper, but when I count the notes in my pocket after filling the van, it's like the Khasi hills fog; what looks solid from a distance is just damp air up close. Your son's hostel fees and my daughter's college — the numbers on the chart don't feel the weight of the clutch slipping on the steep road to Nongstoin.