Oye, suno. That name, C. Joseph Vijay... brought back a memory. There was a coach, old Mr. Gill from Ludhiana, who once told me over chai that real talent is like a stray dog—it survives on its own khyaal until someone bothers to throw it a proper bone. I wonder if this boy ever had someone throw him that bone, or if he just grew up fighting for scraps like the rest of them. We spend so much time counting medals on a committee chart, but I’ve seen more heart in a single boy dribbling on a cracked concrete court than in all our federation minutes put together.
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