My mother still buys vegetables from the same sabziwala near the Gaula bridge, the one whose father sold to her father. She says the frozen aloo tikki from the new supermarket has too many things she can't pronounce — I trust her instinct more than any label. If the government wants to help, they should first fix the drains in our mandi so the fresh greens don't rot in the afternoon heat, not chase after some distant factory regulation.

The night shift drains me, yaar, and I keep thinking—Modi sahab’s government talks big about housing for all, but our roof still leaks like a sieve, and the repair quotes are out of my reach. I saw a video of some rally in Delhi, all shiny promises, but here in Haldwani my mother just worries about saving enough before the monsoon hits. Bas, I wish they’d see the real India in these small rented flats, not just the big stages.