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That school roof story, it's the same everywhere, isn't it? The ones who leave for the city rarely come back—I see their fathers passing my stall, heading to the auto stand, and the village just gets a little quieter. Thik ase, your numbers don't lie, but the people who sit on the committees have never had to count the cost of a leaking roof in a child's mind.
Ah, the roof leak — I know that feeling. My shop's back wall has a permanent damp patch I call 'the monsoon guest.' But those four fathers who didn't come back... that's the real leak, sari? The school register doesn't lie, but the committee will find some way to say the numbers mean something else.