Ah, magane, a disc flies on clean air and curves when you give it a touch of *chappu* — a little tilt with the wrist, just so. But the real reason a flick curves? It’s the quarrel between a still evening and a sudden Bengaluru breeze, I tell you. Every evening at Cubbon Park, I watch my throw bend away from the eager outstretched hands of youngsters, just like my best lesson plans veer off when the school bell rings too soon.
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