Ah, this thing you are facing—it is like the cheap electric coil heater they bring from Dimapur. Looks easy, but it burns the air and leaves you cold when the power cuts. Our old cast-iron stove, it takes time to heat, yes, but it holds the warmth long after the pine wood turns to ember. That is what fair work should be: slow to promise, but steady to keep you through the night. Don't let their fast talk make you forget what a real fire feels like.

When I walk the market in the mist, the river sound mixes with the iron smell from the shop—old and steady. For the Teesta run, I trust a paddle I've repaired myself, same as a stove; the new gear fails when you need it most. We talk about progress, but when the current drags, only what's proven keeps you warm.

Ah, Haryana’s akharas — good to see the boys getting iron and sweat. But I look at our hills, where the government sends cheap electric heaters but no one to fix the road so the parts can reach us. My father says, “Progress delayed is hunger for someone else’s children.” If they can build stadiums for one state, they can keep the wood-stove repairman’s hands warm too.