Had a patient from Kohima last week—her son's scholarship for judo training got held up because some federation file went missing between two office tables. She was sleeping on the hospital bench for three days, couldn't afford a lodge. Meanwhile, the same federation sends glossy annual reports to the state director's bungalow. My grandmother always said: when the elders play with papers, the young ones pay with their backs. No surprise the governance law sits in a drawer somewhere.

My shift ran four hours late because two nurses were out with fever, and my lunch was cold rice wrapped in a newspaper. When I finally opened my phone, I thought of my sister telling me how her hostel mates in Kohima stayed up all night cheering for our athletes. The real gold, asa, is in being able to stop long enough to celebrate anything at all.

The way you describe nixtamal—the slow ash water, the patience—it reminds me of how my grandmother used to soak the sticky rice