It is year 1990, Mani stepped into a crowded government office, carefully holding a birth certificate form for his newborn child. That morning, he had kissed his baby’s forehead, whispering “you like your mom” and he was determined in his mind to give the baby a better future. As he reached the counter, a peon nearby cleared his throat and gave him a known look. “A little something to speed up the process,” he hinted. Mani hesitated, checking his pockets. All he had was a single five rupee coin. It was not much, but he handed it over anyway. The peon took it without a word. After submitting the form, Mani walked to a dimly lit restroom. He stepped inside and splashed water on his face. When he looked up, the lights flickered, and when they stabilized, the restroom looked different. The tiles were cleaner, the sink modern and air carried a faint chemical smell. Mani stepped out, his heart racing The office had changed. The typewriters were gone, replaced by computers. The people dressed in modern clothes and posters of unfamiliar politicians in the walls Confused, he turned toward the counter and saw a young man, Shankar, filling out a form. When he tried to approach him to clear out his confusion, the same peon, now older with grey hair, approached the young man and uttered: “A little something for the process.” Shankar sighed, reached into his pocket and handed over a 500-rupee note. Mani could not believe his eyes. He realised that he had somehow traveled into the future only to find that nothing had changed except the size of the bribe. The same office, the same corruption, the same helplessness. Then, as Shankar turned, both their eyes met. Another realisation hit Mani like a thunderbolt. The young man, Shankar, is his son —the very child he had kissed that morning. Now grown, he is trapped in the same cycle of corruption. Determined, the father rushed back into the restroom and splashed water on his face again, desperate to return to his own time. Lights flickered again and when it stabilised, he was back to 1990. The peon stood before him. “A little something for the process,” he repeated. This time, the father stood firm. “I’ll pay at the desk and get a receipt,” he replied. The peon made him wait the entire day. Hours dragged on with frustration, but the father refused to give in. Finally, as the sun began to set, the form was submitted. With a deep sense of relief, Mani returned to the hospital, ready to take his wife and child home. As they stepped into their house, the elders welcomed them with aarathi. Following tradition, Mani reached into his pocket for an offering.His fingers found the five rupee coin in the pocket. Smiling, he kissed his son’s forehead and  said “you are my future” and placed the coin onto the plate. By, Gowtham