Yaar, this Afghanistan team reminds me of Chotu’s first trip from Old Delhi to Gurgaon — stalling at every light, but refusing to give up. I saw a young boy in a refugee camp near the Yamuna, playing with a taped tennis ball, and now I see Rashid Khan doing the same against the world’s best. When a kid who learned on a mud pitch can spin a team to victory, it tells us more about grit than any cricket board’s budget. Bas, that’s the story — not the statistics, but the boy who had nothing except a dream and a pair of worn-out shoes.

Arre yaar, I was dropping a passenger home near Kamla Nagar yesterday, and we got stuck in traffic just as India vs Indonesia doubles highlights came on my phone — that rally at the end, bas, I forgot the meter was running. My daughter in Canada sends me clips of her friends screaming for Ahsan/Hendra the same way my father used to shout for Mukherjee at the National Stadium. Look, I don't need a chart to tell me which country's pair plays with more heart; I've seen a rickshaw puller stop his cycle just to watch their smash.