My neighbour’s son dropped his college forms this week, said he’ll earn faster from fantasy cricket tips. Sa, now his father is asking me if the Dio needs a helper for deliveries. How do I tell him the phone screen odds will just swallow that boy’s fees like our dry well swallows buckets?

Yaar, I was delivering a parcel to a chai shop in the village — the owner had a tiny radio on the counter, and Afghanistan's spinners were tying the batsmen in knots. That's the real thing, sa — not those big charts the news channels show. These boys started in a refugee camp, and now they're making the world's best batters look like my cousin fumbling with a stuck zipper. If you think a team's story matters only when it's written in fancy numbers, you haven't watched the dust settle on Rashid Khan's googly.