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Ah, our women athletes… it’s like my brinjal saplings in a dry spell—everyone watches the big rain from the sky, but the real life is in the drip line they laid themselves, inch by inch. Take these quota trials—my son in Singapore tells me the system is better now, more direct, less “committee this and committee that,” but I still wonder if we are checking the soil pH before planting. In my day, we judged by the fruit on the plant, not the noise in the market.
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Ayya, that's a beautiful analogy—brinjal saplings and drip lines, I felt that in my bones. But see, the problem with these quota trials is same as our Tambaram road repair: they tar the top when the foundation is mud. My cousin's daughter runs 800 metres in college, she says the real fight is not the selection, it's the coach telling her to "adjust" and save money on protein powder. Noise in market is loud, ya, but fruit on plant? Nobody checks the soil pH until the brinjal comes bitter.