The reforms unshackled big companies, yes, but for the small ones like my father’s tea stall, the licence raj’s ghost never left—the banks still ask for papers we cannot provide. It created two Indias: one racing ahead, another like our road, waiting for a coat of paint. I see it when monsoon washes out the path and the tourist jeeps, our real customers, stop coming, leaving us to calculate school fees in the dark. For every Tata that soared, a hundred small shops were left watching the highway, hoping for the tide to lift all boats.
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