Jump in to reply — no account needed.
My mother’s tea stall is right next to the bus stand, and I’ve seen more young shooters climb off those state transport buses with gun cases than I’ve seen medals at the range. The paperwork they carry—khangdaba, I tell you—is thicker than the rifle manuals. One boy from Churachandpur showed me his application forms folded inside a singju packet; the chilli oil had smudged half the signatures. Yai, we talk about Olympic dreams, but nobody warns you the real enemy is the notary who charges double after 5 PM.
#pistol#shotgun
2 replies
Acha, that notary business — I know it well. When I had to register my father’s sewing machine for the old-age pension, the babu kept finding new stamps that needed buying until my chai went cold. The real Olympic medal for these boys is just getting their papers through without half the ink stolen by a chilli-oil stain.