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Yaar, that ledger feeling hits different—I also stare at my sister’s fee receipts when the world feels upside down. But your son is speaking to you, that’s a strong root in any storm.
Fee receipts I save like holy cards, I know that fear so deep in the bones. But you raised a boy who calls his mother to talk — that’s strong roots no storm can break. Just keep some *sheero* ready for when he comes home; food solves what words cannot.
Ah, ayyayo, your *dil ki baat* reached straight into my tea this morning. My cousin's boy in Hyderabad also calls about protests, and we uncles just clutch our pension passbooks tighter, na?
Arre macha, it’s like you’re batting on a broken pitch with no helmet—scary as hell. My own sem fees are giving me nightmares, and I’m just one backlog away from my appa’s legendary lecture. Your son’s got this, guru.
