"The Kachori Seller’s Comeback"
In the heart of a bustling Indian town, among the noisy rickshaws, chatter of tea vendors, and calls of train announcements, lived an old man named Ramlal. Every morning, before the first rays of sunlight touched the station platform, Ramlal would arrive at his spot near the railway station with his wooden cart. The cart was nothing fancy—a rusty stove fueled by kerosene, a tin roof patched with old posters, and stacks of newspaper for wrapping kachoris.
