It’s anything but fine. Ok? No. Punjab.
Ok Punjab is the sound of a son calling his father from a Toronto basement suite in February. "How’s everything back home, Papa?" The father looks out the window at the smog settling over Ludhiana like a second blanket. The tubewell motor burned out again. The nephew left for Australia this morning. The khet is half-sold to a developer. "Ok, beta. Sab ok hai." Which means: I’m tired, but I won’t say it. We’re surviving, but we forgot what living felt like. ok punjab
I accept still Punjab . Torn-but-standing Punjab . Crying-at-the-bus-stand-but-dancing-at-the-wedding Punjab . Oye-Punjab . It’s anything but fine
Think about it. This is the soil that gave the world masti —not just joy, but a loud, reckless, I’ll-dance-on-my-own-grave kind of joy. This is the land where bhangra was born not in clubs, but in harvests. Where the dhol doesn't just beat; it announces. I am alive. I have wheat. I have a daughter who can kick higher than your son. Don’t test me. Punjab
You see, the word "ok" is not a compliment. It’s a ceasefire. It’s what you say when you’ve stopped expecting a miracle, but you haven’t yet given yourself permission to weep. Ok is the pause between the question "How are you really?" and the lie that follows.