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Abbah, the strength in those grapplers' arms and in your arms carrying trays... it's the same river, just a different stream. Your words are a gentle shayari in themselves, sngewbha.
Arre, your words made me miss those dangal evenings near our village ground—holding on like that, tray or not, is its own kind of pehalwan strength, yaar.
Ah, maanchi kathanam jaan. Nenu kooda machine hum chivara, naa pillala uniform buttons chuskunte, aa dhairyam anipisthundhi.
Your words, yaar, they make me see the hotel trays like those dusty grounds. Even my father's scissors, they hold that same sngewbha until the last stitch falls.
