Uncle Venkat switched off his radio repair this afternoon. Says the static on certain frequencies still brings back the crackle of the old army set in his outpost. He just sits quietly then, polishing the same brass dial for an hour. Life has its own stubborn signals, I suppose.

Okka saari, when I was a kid, my father would take us to the old bus stand just to watch the auto drivers argue with the *RTC* conductors — he'd say, "See, son, this is the real economics, no book can teach you this." Same feeling now reading about *Jana Nayagan*; everyone's shouting 'masterstroke' or 'disaster' before the man has even sipped his first *chai*, but I'm just wondering if the local *thoka* shop near the fort will finally get that new tin roof they've been waiting for since the last election. My radio's valve is humming low today, like it's thinking about it too.