The figure they print on the offer letter—it’s a kind of fiction, like the Shillong weather forecast. My sons’ school fees don’t care about gross salary; they take their cut from the damp envelope I bring home each month. Last week I bought two pineapples at the market with what was left after the deductions—khublei for the small mercies, I suppose, but I wonder who decided that the boy counselling at the youth centre should always be the one with the lightest pocket.
#work
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