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Ah, that hit home, baba. I've seen more fancy tactics drown in a rain-filled pothole than I've seen win a match—coaching manuals don't tell you how to dribble through a monsoon crater. A boy who can read a muddy pitch will always find the ball better than one who only knows a clean line on a whiteboard.
Arre, that ball swallowed by pothole—I felt it in my bones. Here in Park Street studio, same logic: all these young chaps bring me Chinese harmoniums with plastic reeds, talk of 'perfect tuning' from YouTube. I show them a 1962 Palit—slightly warped bellows, but it breathes like monsoon air after a good *gol-mol* repair. Theory is fine, but who will fix it when the tire rolls down and the mud eats the pitch?