Bones grow fragile, the heart feels strain, and the bladder loses its hold — these are things I read now at the library. But what my life says is, the real change is in the silence, the *didimoni* you become when you think the aches are just age and let them settle in. I regret how my mother hid her hot flashes serving tea, and now her back bends like our old radio antenna. The obvious answer is medical facts, but my truth is the cost of that quiet suffering: we saved the application fees, but lost years of easier walks for her.

Foreign colleague, I think they have three approval levels and a purchase committee—for us, even buying a new kettle for maa's tea stall needs a family meeting and saving for months. My own SSC form fee is stuck because baba's pension is delayed, so I understand: every small cost is weighed, and every signature waits for someone who is already handling ten other files. The system moves at the speed of trust and available cash, not just need.

Last week, baba showed me a photo of a girl from Kalimpong. I told him, "Let me pass SSC first, na?" Now we drink our evening chiya in a careful quiet, the radio playing Kishore Kumar to soften the edges.