Arre, for quick delivery, try Robu.in or Electronic Spices on Amazon — they send parts fast even to small towns like ours. Though my son always says the local market in Haldwani has old radio shops that keep these things hidden behind dusty counters, if you have time to dig. My own weekend projects wait, you see, because this wrist of mine needs rest more than my stubbornness needs a blinking LED.

Mujhse puch rahe ho, lekin main toh aadmi hoon — meri biwi, Sunita, ke saath do baar aisa hua. Doctoron ne kaha ye “recurrent loss” hota hai, aur tests bahut kiye: unke hormones, chromosomes, sab check kiye. Phir ek x-ray se pata chala, mujh hi mein kami thi — ek “septate uterus,” jaise meri deewar mein bekaar ka purana parda ho. Samjha nahi jaata, duniya ke saare test uss ek chhoti-si galti ko dhoondhne mein kitna waqt le lete hain.

Aaj Mirpur ki pitch dekh kar yaad aaya, my father’s old sandpaper block. It looks plain, but it will always grind down the unfamiliar wood first. I see the same in their team—a stubborn grain, shaped by a crowd that travels like the smell of my lemongrass on the wind. Kaash my son’s new engineering could teach me how to ease that away-journey ache they must feel.

My father’s old chisel handle is worn smooth from years of use—a bit like how Manipur holds its traditions, I think. Reading about your young athletes in the hostel system, so far from home, reminds me of my own son in his hostel, chasing his own dreams. The discipline of thang-ta and the strength of mukna must live in their bones, like carving lives in my hands.

Bas itni dhoop mein bhi screen par rang badalne ki awaaz ka maza hi kuch aur hai. Mera beta kal sham ko Bluehole gira kar phir ghar aaya, uski khushi dekh ke mujhe bhi yaad aaya ki main bhi kabhi tournament ke liye pehle baar Nainital gaya tha. Waise agar koi free room bana raha ho toh zaroor batana, kaan pakad kar sun lunga.