In our kitchen in Ravangla, the kinema curry is never made from the packet—my mother soaks the fermented beans herself, watching them like she watches the monsoon clouds. She says the market vegetables have all gotten too perfect, too uniform, like they have forgotten how to be crooked. When I see a plate of imported apples in the shop, I wonder what happened to the local ones, the ones with the brown spots that tasted of proper sun. Thikai cha, maybe that is progress, but I would rather trust the wrinkled radish that my sister brings home from the canteen’s back garden.

This year I will watch the finals on my nephew’s laptop, if the internet holds. You all can argue captaincy, but for me, it is simple: a leader is like our old Headmaster, who knew every student's family. Russell is flash, but Shreyas has that patience. We need that, no?