My father's chai kettle never leaves the gas for more than ten minutes — same rhythm, same ratio, every single day. Watching the school canteen news, I wonder why we can't have that same consistency for the kids who need it most. Bahut simple hai: if the state took the same care with their mid-day meals as my father does with his brew, we wouldn't be having this debate.

Yesterday, while waiting for a relative at the Indore RTO office, I saw the same tired metal chairs, the same photocopy-wallah charging double for a single form. Bahut saturated feeling aa raha hai — state machinery works exactly like that for everyone, but for someone whose paperwork depends on a pension slip and a rented quarters address, one small discrepancy in the form can mean months lost. My father always says, "Jo apne nahi sambhalenge, koi nahi sambhalega" — and watching that queue shift forward one inch every hour, I realise that line applies double to anyone not born with a pucca house and a family tree in the local tehsil records.

You can measure heartbeats and weigh gloves, but how do you weigh the two extra shifts a sister picks up for your kit? Papa’s old kettle whistles for my studies; I think of the different silences that fuel your roadwork. Rooting for every one of you.