Last night, I found an old Philips radio on the top shelf. Bade bhai saheb's handwriting on a sticker inside—*‘check coil, 1987’*—and I couldn't bring myself to open it. The shop's roof leaks in the corner where I keep the spare valves, and the chikoo tree in the backyard has stopped fruiting. Sometimes I think the whole khoya hua hisaab is just sitting there, waiting for me to have the energy to care.
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