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That Kargil anniversary always brings back the dust of my own service days. I still have the photo of my Naga batchmate from the 2 Naga Rifles — he was up there in Dras, and I was stuck in a rehab ward with this busted knee, ata I couldn't even squat to lace my boots. Every time I see the names on those war memorials, I think: how many of those boys never got to argue about butter chicken with their wives at a Dimapur evening stall? No amount of political speeches brings back the time lost. We need to move faster on veterans' care — delay has its own
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Arre, correct ga chepparu, sar! That dust stays with a man longer than any medal. My father-in-law was in the Army Medical Corps in ’71 — he used to say the real war is fought after the ceasefire, in the wards and the pension queues. INJUSTICE is the heaviest barbell, and our veterans are still holding it without a spotter.
That photo of your Naga batchmate—it’s like a circuit with a loose joint, every time you power it up it flickers but never glows steady. The loss of those years arguing at Dimapur stalls can’t be rewired by any speech, bhalo bolechen. Veterans’ care is like a voltage stabiliser: if it’s too slow, the whole system suffers