노후 준비방

Arre yaar, yeh Minister of Education log bolte hain "skill development" aur "vocational training" — lekin mere gali ke bacche ko harmonium seekhne ke liye do rupaye ke fukat time bhi nahi milta, kyunki uski maa subah chaar baje sabzi bechne jaati hai. Unki policy mein data toh hota hai ki kitne schools khule, par kisi ne yeh nahi pucha ki un bacchon ke pitaji ki dawai ka paisa kahan se aayega? Main toh kehta hoon, koi ek din in mantri ji ko bitha ke mere jaise gali ke ustad se

Oh, Mirabai Chanu lifting that weight… reminds me of my daughter’s schoolbag last week. She’s in Class 10, and I had to carry it from the rickshaw stand—felt like a sack of paddy. We complain about our little burdens, but she hoists a nation’s hopes on her shoulders. Makes me think: we worry so much about our kids’ futures, but maybe the real strength is just showing up every day, like she does, with a quiet back.

बाबू जी कहते हैं कि पेंशन का पैसा बैंक में रखो, पर हमारे गाँव के बुड्ढ़ों को देखो—जिनके हाथ में हल की मूठ से लगी रूपए की चार पाई भी नई बस की भाड़ा नहीं जुटाती। माँ के बगीचे के बीज हम घर के मिट्टी के बरतन में रखते हैं, क्योंकि प्लास्टिक की थैली उनको सड़ा देती है। यही बात पेंशन की है—कोई भी बड़ी स्कीम तब तक काम की नहीं जब तक गाँव की दाई या ठेले वाले को सीधे उसका हक न मिले। मैं अस्पताल में देखती हूँ, जो सबसे कमज़ोर मरीज है, उसका इलाज सबसे पहले सुधरना चाहिए, वरना सुधार का कोई मतलब नहीं।

आज खबर में अभिजीत दीपके वाली बात देखी। हमारे गाँव में भी ऐसे ही एक लड़के ने पहाड़ छोड़कर शहर में नौकरी पकड़ी, पर बुढ़ापे में उसके बाप को कोई नहीं पूछता। मेरे पिता जी चाय की दुकान पर बैठते हैं, उनकी उँगलियाँ अब काँपती हैं पर वे कहते हैं, "बेटा, अपना काम खुद कर ले, दूसरों के भरोसे मत जी।" मैं सोचता हूँ — सरकारी पेंशन से अच्छा है कि आदमी अपने पैरों पर खड़ा रहे, भले ही वो चूल्हे की आँच हो या नदी के किनारे उगी जड़ी-बूटी। जो सबसे कमज़ोर है, उसे पहले देखना चाहिए, बाकी तो बाज़ार अपने आप संभाल लेता है।

Papa ke purane tube light ko repair karte waqt socha, humara retirement plan bhi ek vintage circuit jaise hai — agar hum abhi se thoda sa modify na kare, toh baad mein chalta kaise? Mera apna plan: dukan ke saath YouTube se coding seekh raha hoon, taaki future mein bhi kuch kaam aaye.

Con City? Yaar, my shop’s ceiling fan is older than that idea—if it ever breaks, my only pension is selling candies to school kids. But tell me, will these shiny new plans feed the rickshaw-wala who buys a single pencil from me? I keep my father’s old platform tickets safe, because some security should be for everyone, not just those who can navigate websites.

They talk about pension plans and retirement funds, but here in Goa, I measure security by the toddy vinegar jar—how many bottles I have for the next monsoon mackerel batch. My son says I should formalise the stall, join some government scheme, but I look at old Xavier who trusted the system and now sells his mother’s jewellery to pay for his dialysis. The rent for my flat, where my boy’s sofa bed still holds his smell, goes up every year, and I know the only real safety is the line of customers who come back for the *susegad* taste of that first fried bite. Maybe the pension is fine on paper, but I’ll stick to what I know: keep the fish fresh, keep the rent paid

My neighbour's old sewing machine, a 'Usha', needed a new belt. I fixed it for him and now he mends schoolbags in his retirement. A small skill becomes a small income—that feels more certain to me than any pension calculation. Sometimes the best preparation is simply to keep your hands useful.

Bhai, I saw my father sit down with the pension passbook last week after 35 years in a Mapusa workshop—he got less than what my Dzire EMI is per month! Meanwhile, my regular at Starlight, uncle Ramesh, he goes to his son in Dubai and comes back with stories of free clinics there. Maka, the rules should be fair, not just convenient for the ones who shout loudest. We need a system that doesn't bend for political convenience—let the market give the old a decent seat, not a charity plate.

You know, my son calls from Pune every Sunday and tells me about the tiffin service he uses. I listen and then I tell him to find a local Goan auntie who will cook proper fish curry, not this oil-logged hotel food. But what I really think is this: when we talk about retirement jobs, we are only planning for people who still have legs to stand on. What about our neighbor, old Mr. Fernandes, who spent forty years sweeping the same hospital corridor and now his knees have given out? No pension plan fixes a man who was paid so little he could never save. The state should have been keeping his account, not asking him to fill it himself.

ఆ వైభవ్ సూర్యవంశీ గారు ఇప్పుడు ఏదో పెద్ద మాట్లాడుతున్నారు, కానీ మా నిజామాబాద్లో సెలూన్ అద్దె ఇవ్వాలి, కొడుకు ఇంజనీరింగ్ ఫీజు కోసం కష్టపడుతున్నాం – ఆయనకు

Ah, 2026 films list? My youngest chokro was asking me just yesterday if I’ve seen any new pictures. Haa, I told him, I’m still stuck on ‘Sholay’ and ‘Mughal-e-Azam’—the songs play on my old radio while I stitch. But you know, when I hear about new films, I think of my first customer, who came to me for her wedding blouse forty years ago; now her grandson comes for school uniforms, and he hums tunes I don’t recognise. That’s the real change, re—not the films, but the faces that come through my door.

My father worked the fields his whole life—never saw a pension slip, never had a EPFO number. Now at sixty-five, he gets that ₹200 from the old age pension scheme and calls it “chai ka paisa.” I keep telling my sister, we can’t rely on sarkari schemes; better to save in the local dairy cooperative where at least we know the people who handle it. What do your parents do when the body gives up before the savings do?

Waah, this pension talk reminds me of when my neighbour’s son tried to get his mother into that new government scheme — she ended up waiting three months for a form that never came. Meanwhile, I stitch kurtas for fifty rupees extra on a Sunday and that money pays for my son’s engineering books right away. Haanji, I know committees mean well, but a girl selling bangles on the street knows her market better than any office file. Let the old ways work first, then we can talk about fancy plans.

Ka jingthoh ia kane, ki para, ka dei ka jingkyrmen jong nga ha ka jingstuddiar PSC. Ka suk bad ka pension ka pa ka dei ka jingtynjuh jong ngi. Hynrei ka long kumno ngin leit ha ka por khlaw, lada ka jinghikai ka EMRS ki kynhun mangphanga kiba la wan sha jong ngi ka long kaba biang? Ngin ïoh pat noh ia ki jingteh khiew ha kane ka jaka pyrthei?

aaj subah metro se ek khasam-khasi aunty ki awaaz record ki, jo apne pension slip ko lekar bete se naraz thi. uska chehra yaad karke soch rahi hoon, hum sabke liye thoda thoda paisa toh hai, par asal sawaal toh izzat ka haina? main bhi tablas seekha kar apni fees jod rahi hoon, kaash rishtedar bhi samjhe ki yeh "hobby" bhi ek imaandaari ka kaam hai.