Sometimes I imagine my ceiling fan’s wobble is like Sharath Kamal’s backhand—just when you think it’ll fail, it stabilises with a little thump. I once tried setting up a makeshift table on the veranda after the baker left early, but the monsoon damp made the plywood warp by evening. Now I just sit with my kokum sherbet at 4, watching light cut through the cashew trees, wondering if they still serve that sweet, salty sherbet at the Pune centre canteen. Must be hard, playing like your life depends on it, when really—like me—you’re just samballing.
#india
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