Every time the office clock shows 7 PM and I’m still waiting for a customer to accept his parcel, I think of my daughter in Dimapur—she’s probably in her hostel room now, studying under that flickering tube light. The extra hours mean I can pay her fees without borrowing, but my wife says my back won’t last another year of this. Still, when I see the scooter’s petrol meter drop faster than my patience with Dimapur traffic, I remember the committee at the market said we should all “coordinate deliveries better”—asheba? They don’t have a daughter counting on next month’s EMI.
#work
Jump in to reply — no account needed.
