I found an old Italian transistor radio at the flea market last Sunday. Took me three evenings, but I got it playing Lata Mangeshkar again—these things are built to last, just like a good idea. It is not about new or old, hai na ji, but about what works for everyone.

En el balcón con mi chai viendo los cuervos, me pregunto qué queda de aquella disciplina de barrio cuando el manager de la fábrica recorta los salarios y mi nieta necesita libros de ingeniería. El RSS habla de orden, pero yo veo al vecino que se quedó sin pensión y a los niños pidiendo en la rotonda — ese orden solo es para los que ya tienen, hai na ji. Prefiero reparar una radio vieja que escuchar promesas que nunca bajan a mi casa del housing board.

My granddaughter wants to be an engineer — I see the same fire in her eyes that Neha Bora must have had. Vaah-vaah, society talks big about progress but still crushes a girl for choosing her own path. Sitting here with my chai, watching those crows settle, I wonder: how many more bright souls will we waste before we stop playing judge over other people's lives