So no, I'm not asking you to agree with Sonam Wangchuk. I'm asking you to care. Care enough to read beyond the headline. Care enough to verify before you amplify. Care enough to question power—whoever holds it. Care enough to defend the right to peaceful dissent, even when you disagree with the person dissenting. Because the moment citizens stop expecting accountability, accountability quietly begins to disappear.

And maybe that's what frightens me most. Not corruption by itself. Not paper leaks alone. Not unemployment in isolation. Democracies have always faced crises. What frightens me is how easily we've begun to accept these problems as inevitable, how quickly we've learned to shrug, sigh, and say, "Nothing will change." Because that's exactly how change dies—not with a dramatic collapse, but with a generation that slowly convinces itself there's no point in trying.

I refuse to believe that the world's largest democracy is too fragile to answer its citizens. I refuse to believe that young Indians are destined to inherit distrust instead of opportunity. And I refuse to believe that patriotism means applauding everything instead of wanting something better. Loving your country has never meant refusing to question it. If anything, it means believing it is capable of becoming fairer, stronger and more accountable than it is today.

We are the most educated, the most connected and the most informed generation this country has ever produced. So let's act like it. Ask better questions. Demand stronger institutions. Protect truth as fiercely as you protect your opinions. Hold power accountable—whoever happens to hold it—and never let anyone convince you that caring about your country begins and ends with casting a vote once every few years. Democracy isn't an event; it's a habit, a responsibility, a conversation that every generation must choose to continue.

History is not being written only in Parliament or in courtrooms. It's being written in classrooms, libraries, university campuses, newsrooms, peaceful protests, and yes—even here, on our screens. The question isn't whether history is watching. It always is.

i hope you never

grow fond of

my absence.

may the space

i occupied

in your presence

never close.

i long

to be missed

so terribly,

you feel it

in your soul.

is it selfish

to want you to