Figli, nonni e badanti

The silk thread I order from Assam now costs near double what it did two years back. My inaphi buyers in the market feel the pinch too, so I cannot raise my price much. You ask about big government schemes for weavers — I say, bring the loom co-op to the village first, where we can see the cash pass from hand to honest hand, not through some faraway office.

Yaar, I was just talking to my cousin about how we manage our rent here, and it hits me that back home my parents are paying for my dadi's meds while juggling their own bills. This family-as-welfare thing is just accepted, na? Makes me glad my café gigs at least cover my guitar strings.

AIE, this list of Hindi films for 2026 — my younger son, he still saves his pocket money to watch them on the neighbour's phone, telling me the plot while I stir the *ja*. I can't help but wonder what stories they will tell, whether they will show our hills or just the same Delhi roads, but I suppose a boy needs his dreams, even if his mother's dreams are stuck on a syllabus page. Let them make their films; I will keep my eyes on the answer keys. *Khublei*.

Mere bhai, main raat ko factory se aaya, haath still machine oil wale, aur amma ji ke ghutno mein dard hai—par kal subah mere chillian plant te do naye phal aaye, thik hai? Suno, yeh "badanti" wala system, bina kisi ko diya dekhe hum pe bharosa hai? Main apni amma nu khud dekhda, par college fees aur ghar ka kharcha, na badanti afford kar sakda, na koi scheme sahi se pahunchdi. Jo kaam hum roz karde aa, ohi asli welfare hai—bas sarkaar nu nahi dikhta.

Every Diwali when the rent jumps, I remember that welfare is just a family stretching its last hundred rupees. Your nonni and badanti holding up the system? We have our own 'battery-walla bhaiya' paying school fees one e-rickshaw charge at a time. These grand schemes mean nothing if they don't reach the person whose meter is always running.

Sumne, my six-year-old was trying to explain that new Odyssey movie to me—said it’s about a man stuck at sea, trying to get home. I told him, "That’s just like appa trying to find the old invoices in our godown while I’m on the phone with the peanut supplier." He didn’t laugh, just asked if the man had to eat boiled peanuts too.

My son in Guwahati texted that the new Spider-Man comic is expensive, almost as much as a kilo of rohu today. I think of his hostel rent and my market rent, two heavy baskets steaming on the same small fire. All these big stories flying around... our own quiet ones need holding up.

I saw a mother crying near the old bus stand because she had to choose between her tailoring class fees and her child’s nursery fee, time agalla. It's a shame when hard work doesn't add up, and the weight falls on families to adjust maadkoli. A government that truly cares would make sure no mother has to make that choice.

mari factory na pahela shift thi awta hoy to, mama tiffin pack karti hoy ane purana wall clock ni tick-tick sunai aape. aavi rite thirty minute aapnu hoy, bau saru lagay. mane evu lagay ki sabha welfare scheme na number-ganth thi vadhare, e quiet time family ne je aapay eh.

എന്റെ കടയിൽ ഇന്ന് രാവിലെ ഒരു യുവാവ് വന്നു, മുടി വെട്ടിക്കാൻ. ഇംഗ്ലീഷ് സിനിമയുടെ പേരു പറഞ്ഞു, "ക്രിസ്റ്റഫർ നോളൻ" എന്നൊരു സംവിധായകന്റെ കഥ പറഞ്ഞു. ഞാൻ പറഞ്ഞു, "മോനേ, ഈ നാട്ടിൽ ഒരു കുട്ടിക്ക് സ്കൂൾ ഫീസ് കൊടുക്കാൻ വഴിയില്ലാത്ത അമ്മമാർ രാത്രി കരയുന്ന കാര്യം പറഞ്ഞിട്ട് കാര്യമുണ്ടോ? നമ്മുടെ പണം കൊണ്ട് നമ്മുടെ ആളുകൾക്ക് വേറെ ആരും ഇല്ലാത്തപ്പോൾ, ആ സിനിമയും കാശും ഒക്കെ ദൂരെ നിൽക്കട്ടെ." പിന്നെ ഞാൻ അവന്റെ മുട

Our pressure cooker was whistling at five this morning, and I was thinking about Sonam Wangchuk. His Ladakh is not my Uttarakhand, yaar, but that same stubborn cold creeps into our bones here too—my father’s pension barely covers the LPG cylinder now, and I’m rationing the dal because the market rate for toor shot up again. Meanwhile, the news channels show him on that long march, and I just sit here with my dog, wondering if the government will ever see that a mountain farmer’s survival is not a statistic, but a daily juggling act with a leaking roof and a single bulb.

अरे ये 'लाफ्टर शेफ' वाला अनलिमिटेड एंटरटेनमेंट देखा? हमारी गाड़ी के सामने वाले कॉलेज के बच्चे कहते हैं "दीदी, आपकी चटनी तो असली कॉमेडी है!" — पर मुझे हँसी नहीं आती जब ह

हमारे यहाँ तो चूल्हे पर हँसी नहीं, बस पानी की केतली सीटी बजाती है — और वो भी तब जब बिजली का बिल न भरा हो। 'लाफ्टर शेफ़' का नाम सुनके लगा, काश हमारी दुकान के बाहर बैठा कुत्ता भी कभी हँसता, पर वो तो सिर्फ़ पुरानी किताब

Ah, the Commonwealth Games? I was just now stitching a little Lepcha deer on an old cloth, and the lamp flickered — thik-chha, I thought, at least the power is steady tonight. All that money the government puts into big stadiums and ceremonies, and here my daughter in Kolkata has to share a room with three girls because the hostel fees keep climbing. If even half that budget was sent to the families who are raising the children and caring for the old ones, we wouldn’t have to scramble for extra embroidery orders from tourists.

അതെ ഞാൻ കേട്ടു. ആള് വലിയ ഉപന്യാസമൊക്കെ പറഞ്ഞു, പക്ഷേ എന്റെ അയൽപക്കത്തെ കുഞ്ഞൻ്റെ അച്ഛൻ—അവനൊരു ചെറിയ പച്ചക്കറിക്കടക്കാരൻ—അവൻ്റെ മോൾക്ക് എങ്ങനെ അഞ്ചാം ക്ലാസ് ഫീസ് കെട്ടാൻ പറ്റും എന്ന ചോദ്യത്തിന് ആർക്കും ഉത്തരമില്ല. ഞാൻ എന്റെ ചെറിയ തേങ്ങാക്കൃഷിയിൽ നിന്ന് എത്ര വില കിട്ടും എന്നത് market price-ൽ തീരുമാനമാകുമ്പോൾ, ഇവിടെ ഒരു school fee-യും loan amount-ഉം കൊണ്ട് പിടഞ്ഞ് കഴിയുന്ന ആ കുടുംബത്തെ ഓർക്കും. "Pradhan ji" എങ്ങനെ വിദ്യാഭ്യാസം സൗജന്യമ

अरे भाई, मेरी बहन के स्कूल की फीस के लिए मैं हर रोज़ डिलीवरी करता हूँ — सरकारी स्कूल में पढ़ती है, पर वहाँ भी किताब-कॉपी का पैसा अपनी जेब से देना पड़ता है। हमारे गाँव में कोई आँगनवाड़ी तो है, पर वो दो घंटे खुलती है और बच्चों को दूध से ज़्यादा मिट्टी खिलाती है। जब हमारे परिवार की माँ-बाप-बच्चे की देखभाल खुद ही करनी है, तो बड़ी नीतियाँ बताती हैं कि क्या करना चाहिए — मगर वो नहीं जानतीं कि मेरे छोटे भाई को सुबह-सुबह कैसे तैयार करके चाय बनानी है।

Yesterday my neighbor's grandson was showing him how to use a video call on that old desktop I fixed, yaar. That boy is studying computers in Bangalore, and the whole time I kept thinking—his fees must be the weight of a mountain for that family. When these systems change, will they remember the ones holding everything together with chai and duct tape?