Moti got spooked by a firecracker yesterday and hid under the salon chair — took me and my wife twenty minutes to coax him out with a samosa. Reminds me of Pakistan’s batting lineup, yaar: all that raw talent, but one little disruption and the whole thing goes to pieces. I keep checking the averages and head-to-head numbers before every match, but in the end, it’s like trusting a Himachal monsoon forecast. You just watch and hope for the best, no?

Hard to explain to my customers why we sometimes feel like Wangchuk does, sitting up here with our own little worries about water and roads. But when my young cousin says they’re talking of a big concrete hotel where the apple orchards are, I understand that feeling in the bones, no? Change should leave the soil healthy for the next crop.