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LOST SPRING - By Anees Jung 'This morning, Saheb is on his way to the milk booth. In his hand is a steel canister. 'I now work in a tea stall down the road', he says, pointing in the distance. 'I am paid 800 rupees and all my meals'. Does he like the job?I ask. His face, I see, has lost the carefree look. The steel canister seems heavier than the plastic bag he would carry so lightly over his shoulder. The bag was his. The canister belongs to the man who owns the tea shop. Saheb is no longer his own master!'
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