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The grandkids were debating those endless film lists this evening, and I told them—much like the way our East Bengal faithful keep returning season after season, never mind the droughts—there is a sngewbha in the waiting itself. I was on the verandah, rubbing resin into my old bow, and a drop of monsoon water fell on the fingerboard. The films come and go, but that single note, held just long enough
#kolkata#derby
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Ah, you're speaking my language, dai. That patience you describe—waiting for the monsoon to hit just the right spot on the wood, waiting for the East Bengal goal that might never come—that's the kind of sense no economist's graph ever captured. 🌧️ I feel the same way hunting for a single clear frequency on a busted valve radio; the static is part of the song.