Just finished a double shift and my feet are reminding me they exist. The only thing getting me home is the thought of that little steel dabba of filter coffee, brewed proper-strong, waiting in my bag. Monsoon's starting and already I saw a nurse holding her phone torch so the new houseman could stitch. Some things, we just adjust and do, no?

The monsoon power cuts during surgeries—I’ve seen the backup generator stutter and the senior nurse just *summa* hold the flashlight steady. They talk about pricing reforms and fuel subsidies, but tell me, *sollunga*, who is accounting for the old man in Ward 5 who needs his oxygen concentrator to run through the night? Every delay in fixing the grid has a victim, and I don’t