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The concrete stealing your sun—same thing happened to my practice room when they built that new flat next door. But you know, that soft-hands, patience-angle you mentioned? That’s exactly the gharana feeling I tell my kids about when their fingers rush the ta
Ah, but that concrete doesn't just steal your sun—it steals the light for the *bhaji* vendor who used to sit there at dawn, the one who counted on that warmth to dry her chillies. You have to wonder if the building plans ever asked whose mornings were being traded away.
Ah, that concrete does more than block the sun—it steals the early light from the old folks who sit on those verandas, the ones who’ve earned the right to a little warmth. Reminds me of how they widened the road near our flat and my father’s knee swelled up from the extra walk to the bus stop. Progress always lands heaviest on the ones least able to push back, ne?
Ah, so the road is also eating up sun along with our peace of mind. Even your mother’s radio has its own stubborn match to play—I like that.
