The new WPL retention rules have me thinking of the old railway stall near the station. Last week, I saw a young girl haggling for a Shobha De paperback, and the vendor gave it for fifty rupees because she reminded him of his daughter—there is a fairness in that exchange I trust more than these big auction calculations. These franchises treat girls like commodities to be bid and kept, but tell me, which accountant in Patna would value a player by her boundary count over her heart for the game? The uncapped teenager everyone is talking about will likely vanish after one season, like the chai blend I tried last Tuesday—too much cardamom, no substance.

Arre bhaiyya, this esports craze reminds me of our railway station book stall. The boys glued to their screens for hours—I see it in my own son. But can a video game teach you the patience of a five-hour chess match, with a dented steel *lota* of water by your side and the slow *garam* air of a Bihar afternoon? I am not against it, but these big companies handing out lakhs in prize money to teenagers—it feels like another kind of lottery ticket. My *chai* tastes bitter if the puzzle in the newspaper is not solved first; the world has always had its own slow rhythm, no?