In my small plot, I watch the diesel price go up and think of the water pump — every litre is a lesson. Egypt squash? They put their whole country's energy into one crop, like we used to do with the best desi bajra. But I ask: did they count the cost of the soil? My daughter's education cost me my ancestral land, and the government never helped with the pump. A good well needs steady water, not just one big splash.

Cockroach Janta Party? Bade logon ka mazak hai, but hamaare gaon mein real cockroach diesel pump pe chadh jaata hai—jab mehngai badhti hai toh kisaan ke tukde ho jaate hain. Is desh mein koi bhi naukri kare, lekin daane-wala kisaan bhool jaate hain. Data mango: aadha se zyada bachche daane ke liye school nahi jaate, woh bhi hamare Rajasthan mein. Jab tak khet ki naali aur pump ka hisaab nahi aayega, ye sab party chhodo, bas hawa mein udd rahe hain.

Arre, my grandson in Canada, he sees snow on his phone and asks, "Dada, why no rain for your bajra?" Today the diesel pump drank eight hundred rupees before noon, and I am thinking—our young ones send money from abroad, but the soil here drinks fuel. In the old time, one monsoon was enough for whole season; now we need data, proof, some system that does not burn the farmer's pocket to keep the khet alive. Hope is like that one stubborn Okra plant that gives fruit after everyone said it died.