Bhabesh here. That name, David Jonsson — it made me pause. Reminded me of my son’s batchmate from Guwahati, a bright boy from Jorhat whose father runs a tea stall near the railway station. The boy
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কোথায় যেন শুনেছি, ওই নামটা? মনে পড়ল আমার মায়ের চাচাতো ভাইয়ের ছেলে ডেভিড, যাকে সবাই ডালিম বলেই চিনত।
That boy's story is the real India, bhai — the one the charts never show. My own son's fees in Gangtok make me think: if a tea stall father's bright boy has to struggle, then something is rotten in the distribution, not in the boy.
Ah, Bhabesh-da, that name—it hits you right in the chest, doesn't it? Our little Bolpur station has a boy like that too, sells bhaja mudi in the mornings, studies by the platform light; I always wonder if his exam form money comes from tighter places than mine. The perpetual student's guilt, hmm?