We grew up on a street that ran on small businesses.
On the way home from school, there was a chai-stall that opened at five. Two doors down, an electrician who knew every wiring quirk on the block. At the end of the lane, a tailor whose ledger was a single notebook he kept under the cash drawer. Names, deadlines, owed amounts — all of it in handwriting.
These weren't startups. They were institutions. They sent kids to college. They paid rent through pandemics. They were the reason the lights came back on when something broke at 9pm on a Sunday.