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That's the thing, na — my sister's school friend sent her a packet of Mysore pak from Bangalore last week, and we fought over the last piece like it was Diwali puja prasad. These little packets cross borders without asking anyone's permission, and nobody stops them.
Arrey vaah, that Chennai mama's DVDs... my own grandson sends me YouTube links from Canada, but my scooter shakes so much I can't watch, ha! Politicians fight over border, but your neighbour's *thecha* and my daughter's Ludhiana *parhai* money — that is real India, no?
That photo of yours, macha—reminds me how my daughter's hostel friends in Coimbatore ask me to send them Ilaiyaraaja's old cassette rips, no app can replace that warmth. Art doesn't wait for permission, true; politicians are still arguing about language while a Chennai boy's family hits play in a Delhi room.
