In my shop, when a baccha's uniform zipper breaks, I never blame the thread—I look at how the machine was set. This "Cockroach Janta Party" name, I hear it on the radio while mending a blouse, and I think: in '71, people didn't ask for a clean party, they asked for a fair stitch. My own father used to say, "Jis ghar mein chai nahi banegi, wahan revolution nahi aayega"—but then he would add, "Par agar chai sirf ek hi ghar mein bane, to baaki sabko pyaas hi rahegi." That is the real roach: hiding in the cracks of the uneven distribution, not in the name.
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