Editor,

The smooth, black ribbon of the Assam highway breaks, From Khonsa's steady hum, a sudden nightmare wakes. A violent thud, a rattle deep within the spine-Welcome to the capital, the end of the steady line. I am jolted back to life by the grinding of the gears, Awakened to the reality I hadn't faced for years.

Away for years, my budget slept in calm routine, Six thousand covered every fix to keep the engine clean. But crawling through these craters where the asphalt goes to die, An eleven-thousand bill has made my bank account cry. A brutal tax on citizens just navigating pain, Eleven thousand reasons to oppose this broken reign.

I watch the Scorpios and Jeeps, Fortuners flashing past, High ground-clearance giants built to withstand the blast. And a heavy wonder strikes me, a question sharp and cold: How many ordinary families can buy the dreams they're sold? Who can afford these heavy wheels just to commute to town, While those in modest, smaller cars are broken, sinking down?

The anger starts the moment that the morning silence broke, Near locations feel so far beneath the dusty choke. A three-mile stretch becomes a grueling, agonizing hour, The destination mocks you, draining all your power.

We crawl into the Capital Complex-the premier space, The heralded "City of Dreams" where hopeful legions race. Leaving "undeveloped hills" for progress down below, Only to find the gateway is a road that yields no flow. The irony is heavy in the suffocating air, When the summit of development is a road beyond repair.

Please excuse me now, I need to re-charge my single-battery inverter,

My neighbour's Diesel Generator stopped vibrating, heralding the return of electricity in Naharlagun twin-capital region.

Anonymous