It sounds like a cruel joke. Yet that is the grim reality facing Agra. August has arrived with rumbling clouds and the scent of rain-soaked earth. Instead, the sky has worn a blank face. Farmers scan the horizon with anxious eyes, housewives count every bucket, and tube wells groan a little louder each day.

It is eight on a warm summer morning. At a dusty road junction in a village of Govardhan tehsil in Mathura district, a group of boys and girls waits for the school bus. Their uniforms are spotless. Their shoes shine. Colourful school bags hang from their shoulders.

On summer evenings, the banks of the Yamuna River look very attractive. Cool breeze, families enjoying themselves, children's laughter, and the calm flow of the river; everything feels peaceful.

History has strange habits. Sometimes mighty empires fall because of wars. Sometimes governments stumble because of inflation. And sometimes, a political storm begins with... a meme.

Jantar Mantar turned into a carnival of defiance. Gen Z sang, danced, traded irreverent memes, mocked powerful leaders, and feasted on burgers, pizzas and bhaturas, as if politics had crashed a college festival.

The children have settled in distant cities. The phone hardly rings anymore. Knees hurt. Memory fades. Loneliness walks in quietly and refuses to leave. This is not the story of a few old people. It is the future of India.