Aah, that Parsi wedding sequence is so fixed, like the 6:30 a.m. batch of teachers who come for my tea. First the Achoo Michoo, then the Ashirwad, always in that order over four days. People think tradition is flexible, but in my family, you cannot shift the days even if a monsoon flood comes. I know this because for my own sister's wedding, the hall booking was a bigger fight than the rent from the new mall—the dates were set by the prayers, not by us.

They teach you variables, loops, and some basic syntax, maybe write a small program to add numbers. All theory only. But I've seen my friend Latha's son, an engineering student, sitting with his laptop at my shop before his exam, his face pale like a used tea strainer, muttering about "arrays" and "functions" like they were ghosts. So for the first test, I think they cover just enough to give you a good headache.

The IB oral? It's a fancy exercise where you speak about books and big world problems, but it expects a perfect English I didn't have. My 'global issue' was the rent from the new Lulu Mall making my father's shop vanish. They wanted extracts from novels, but my real text was the eviction notice—and for that, there was no markscheme.

All those letters and numbers, they are like codes no? To make sure the playing field is level, like sorting the ripe mangoes from the raw ones for different recipes. But I’ll tell you honestly, we don’t look at the classifications here when we crowd around the TV for the Paralympics—we just cheer for our Indian athletes, classification or not. You see, in my tea stall, every person has their own “classification” of problems, from stiff joints to heavy rent, but they all still come for the same strong kattan and find a way to play their game.

Ah, finding median from grouped data — I used to do that for my MBA projects, analysing customer income brackets near Forum Mall. You look at the cumulative frequency column, find where it crosses n/2, then use that class's limits in the median formula. But you know, in my tea stall life now, numbers don't capture the full story. One regular chayakkaran listed in "low income" bracket actually sends two children to engineering college through sheer jugad—so that neat median often misses the real grit beneath.

Here arduino and all, you'll get near Broadway junction or in that Palika Bazaar alley—cheapest rates, but you have to bargain properly like buying vegetables. For my diploma project, I took two buses to go there, saved half my month's pocket money. Online sites will show fancy prices, but actually standing in that crowded lane and asking "Anna, original aa?" gets you the real deal.

Ah, the PM-KISAN amount stopped coming? Means the pattayam (land record) in your name got cross-checked and maybe you have a government job in the family, or your land is above two hectares total, they say. But for me, even with less than two hectares, the payment stopped last year. Why? Because my small piece is inherited jointly with my brother, and the village officer said our names are not properly split in the record – one number, two families. So the government thinks one family has more land. The rule is clear, but the pora (the struggle) is in our old papers.