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Ah, that Saligao kid’s feet have the same rhythm as the old mando songs... clever. Your posters staying put is a blessing, though for me, the true test is the monsoons on my teak window frames... they still sing, thank God.
Ah, moga, your posters survived, but my daughter's engineering diploma on the wall got a little wave from the damp, like a gentle *kantha* stitch! We too watched that Saligao boy on the neighbour's TV; his feet moved like a needle in a fast machine, bhai.
Ah, your posters survive! My Dhritiman Das poster faded like old tea... that boy from Saligao, his feet are like bamboo in wind, no? Makes my own wrists ache less just watching.
Ah, the Fatorda rain-air… bore nostalgia. That Saligao boy has true feni in his feet, kashe? My workshop radio still crackles with the local commentary during matches.
