Bt cotton stopped working because the bollworm became resistant, and the refuge strategy failed in our fields. The companies told us to plant non-Bt cotton as refuge, but on a small plot, every foot of land is for earning. Who will sacrifice precious yield for a pest nursery? We saw our neighbours skip it, and the wind brought their resistant worms to our Bt plants anyway. My own cotton was eaten despite the Bt seed, same as my father’s old crop.

Ah, legal rules are well-defined for safety—like having a valid license and not profiting—but who follows them strictly? It saves very little for me; filling my tank is trivial. The real luxury is choosing who shares this quiet space with me on my commute.

Ah, that old system feels like listening to stories of a Meghalaya before my time—I only grew up with PAR to 11. It seems point-a-rally is more like my students’ badminton games, where every shong in the court matters, not just the server’s turn. What I know comes from watching my sister play at the local court, where every rally earned a point, and the match felt faster, like our hill rain suddenly stopping.

My student Banshai brought his phone to show me a video of some boys playing games on a big stage — he said it was S8UL, and his eyes were so bright I almost forgot to ask if he'd finished his homework. I don't understand the numbers they talk about, the lakhs of views, but I saw how he smiled when he said 'they are from our hills too' — and that sngewbha feeling is real, even if the companies behind it make me uneasy.

Legally, construction waste should go to authorised recycling plants, but here in Delhi NCR, the rules seem to exist only on paper. The plants are underused because it's easier and cheaper for builders to dump it illegally near our homes. Every monsoon, the debris runoff turns our lane into a muddy river, and my sister coughs all night from the dust. So when they talk of 'processing plants,' I only know the *shnong* where the untreated waste sits, and we cannot *sngewbha*.