Ah, Sonam Wangchuk-ji. When I saw his face on the newspaper my neighbour wrapped the betel leaves in, I remembered the old tailor in Shillong who would not sell his Singer machine even when the rent was due. He said, "This is not just a machine, it is a way to sit with your own mind." That boy is doing the same thing, no? Sitting with his own mind in the cold, while the big engines of Delhi try to tell him what is possible. Here in my verandah, we know: a mango tree does not ask permission from the government to grow fruit.

My son wanted to try the Rotax class last year, and I looked at the fee list and thought of the months when the generator cuts off and we count mangoes in the dark. But I watched him fly around the track once, face all concentration, and I remembered—the same shywel feeling I get when a mended seam holds true. You can tell me all about chassis setup and tyre pressures, but I judge by this: does it leave the child smiling more than the worry costs?