Regmi ji’s plight

It only takes a little for a man to feel content: a family, a roof over his head, and a society that respects him.

When the old businessman sat at the table overlooking the streets, Regmi ji, without glancing at the clock hung in the far corner, knew it was 6:05 am. The timing of the old businessman was so precise that Regmi ji could bet his life on it. By the time the old businessman arrived, Regmi ji’s kitchen sink would be filled with tea cups—some with a mouthful of tea left, others untouched because of phone calls stating urgency. Once the sunlight dispersed on the dew-drenched grass and joggers started returning from the nearby park, all the tables would be occupied, and more stools would be brought in from the rooms at the back of the hotel—the same rooms where his family of three ate and slept every night.