Ok 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.

I accept still Punjab . Torn-but-standing Punjab . Crying-at-the-bus-stand-but-dancing-at-the-wedding Punjab . Oye-Punjab . ok punjab

Ok Punjab means: the sarson da saag is still made, but the family eats it in three different time zones. One plate in Vancouver, one in Melbourne, one in a PG in Noida. The saag is ok . The connection is ok . The ache is not acknowledged. Ok Punjab is the sound of a son

But the photograph—the real one—is still a Jatta aayi aai at 2 AM. Still a Kali miri on a dusty road. Still a bride laughing so hard her dupatta slips. Still a grandfather saying, "Putthar, babe di kripa. Sab theek ho jana." (Son, by God’s grace, everything will become theek —which is one notch above ok .) The nephew left for Australia this morning

There it is, pinned to the bottom of a WhatsApp status. Two words. A shrug emoji, maybe, or a white heart. Ok Punjab.

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.