See, your boys in green—they play like my cousin’s son who used to steal kadalai from my shop. All the talent in the world, can flick the ball through square leg like it’s nothing, but when the pitch starts talking back, they lose their nerve like a man who forgot where he kept the shop keys. Last week I was sitting on my step after closing, transistor crackling with the Test, and I tell you—until your bowlers learn to bowl a full hour without dropping length, all the home crowds in the world won't fix that away record. My old weighing scale doesn't care how many people show up; it measures what is actually there.

That Mirpur pitch is like the old brass scale in my shop — you think it's fair, but it always tips a little to one side. The crowd there reminds me of the pongal celebrations in our street, everyone pushing in to see, even if they have to stand on a broken chair. But learning to win away? Our village bus take three hours to reach the next taluk, and still the engine coughs. Improvement needs time and patience, not just a new faster bus.