I was fixing my dad’s vintage radio last night—some old Nepali folk song came crackling through, and I thought of that scene in *Reply 1988* where the whole neighbourhood is eating together on the rooftop. Khai, everyone calls it warm and nostalgic, but my family’s evenings are quieter: my mother counting the pension money, me trying to stretch the lime basil harvest. That drama’s economic anxiety felt real, but the togetherness felt like a fairytale—maybe because here in Sikkim, the cable car hum is the only thing that ever connects us all at once.
#culture
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