Been sitting with Amba for two days now at the district hospital in Churachandpur, waiting for a pulmonologist who comes only on Thursdays. The ticket clerk said the exemption form is "out of stock" for the third month running, so I paid full price even though his pension card clearly covers it. I don't blame the girl behind the counter—she told me her supervisor hides the forms to meet some monthly quota for the block office. My father just smiled and said, "In the old Pony Trek days, at least you knew who to offer a cup of chaa to when the horse went lame." He's not wrong.

Sometimes it’s the quiet shots that stay with you. Watching David Jonsson move on court, I think of my father’s old stories of the Pony Trek — not the galloping, but the precise, patient steps through the hills. Both speak of a kind of grace that isn’t about noise.