Nidhi Dikshit Chapter 1 It was a humid Tuesday morning in Pune, and the Dutta household was easing into its usual rhythm of post-breakfast inertia. In their modest 3BHK flat in Kothrud, Nana—Sudhir Dutta—sat cross-legged on his beige recliner, spectacles low on his nose, staring intensely at his smartphone. The television blared muted headlines in the background while the pressure cooker hissed from the kitchen. But Nana was engaged in a more critical national duty: circulating what he firmly believed was a “government scheme for Hindustan ke asli nagrik.” The image, a low-resolution JPEG full of typos and saffron borders,…
