Journey Back....



Shanghai greeted me with warm sunshine on my rare day off, a chance to catch up on news with Memo, my reliable assistant who handled all my affairs. Memo was like a trusted partner, often taking care of me more than I did of him. However, it was my beloved wife Tnunzu who remembered to plug in Memo's charger and revive him each time he faltered. Today, Memo brought exciting news about India's growing economy, proudly emerging as a global economic powerhouse.

I was born and raised in Mirzapur, where my father, a hardworking agricultural laborer, instilled in me the values that eventually led me to a career in IT. My fascination with China, fueled by the presence of Mao's image in our home during my childhood, motivated me to work there for twelve transformative years. In China, I found not only professional growth but also love with Tnunzu. Despite my deep yearning to return to India, bureaucratic hurdles prevented me from doing so, gradually weakening my ties with my homeland.

Returning after years abroad, the journey back to India was filled with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation. Stepping 🀍kvlvvvvomomvmvmvomvvmmmhe plane, I was immediately struck by the sights and sounds that marked India's progress. The airport, once a modest affair, now stood as a testament to modernity and efficiency, bustling with travelers and adorned with technological advancements that mirrored the country's àa




economic growth.

In the lounge, I indulged in a meal that, while expensive, hinted at the newfound affluence and consumer culture sweeping through urban India. As I boarded the train toward what was once my quiet village, now transformed into a thriving town, I marveled at the new infrastructure, bustling markets, and the signs of prosperity evident in the well-maintained buildings and bustling streets.

Arriving near my village, I couldn't help but notice a grand bungalow with "Ram Varma" boldly inscribed on its gateposts — Oh!! I know him. It was under his supervision my father worked in his land.Walking through the familiar yet changed streets, I was drawn to a section of the town cordoned off with red tape, marking a stark division between prosperity and poverty. There, amidst the makeshift shelters and narrow alleys, I spotted my aging father, now in his seventies, still laboring to make ends meet. His weathered face and tired eyes spoke volumes of the struggles and resilience of those left behind in the race for progress.

As I embraced my father, the weight of the journey back sank in. While hugging him, the only thing i had in mind was the gdp figures which i was happy about before.

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