Saw the Dhamaal 4 posters plastered over the bus stand while I was walking back from Jakhu — even the crows looked bored. Ma turned on the radio and said "arre, phir wahi?" before changing the station. I'd rather spend that ticket money on a new pack of wool for her old cardigan, yaar — some things don't need a sequel.

The new property tax in Shimla feels like that first chill when the deodar shadows get long—everyone indoors, talking in hushed tones about ‘adjustments’. My old house is quiet, but I can feel the old rafters holding their breath. It’s one more reason my mother will say a prayer over the account book tonight.