Arre, this trophy talk feels good like first monsoon rain, but all this *dabang* noise—main sochta hoon, when I drove that Dehru-Mussoorie bus, I used to watch those chai-wallah kids climbing the hills with baskets of *bhujia* heavier than their own bones. Same city, same *ladai*—jo sabse kamzor hai, usko pehle *khurr-khurr* karke chod deta hai yeh bada-ka-bada celebration. My little pine sapling on the windowsill grows slow, but it doesn't boast—it just holds the soil. Let's celebrate, but *thoda* bhi bach

They're building a stadium in Con City now, but I think of the patch of ground behind the depot where we used to play gulli danda. A proper stadium won't have room for a stray dog sleeping at long-off, or the chaiwalla's cart at mid-on. Real sport has some *khich-khich* in it, not all this polished concrete.

Arre bhai, ye Commonwealth Games — mere bus ke khaali seat jaisa lagta hai, dikhta bada hai par andar kuch nahi. Mussoorie road pe dekho, bachche apni rusted ring ke basket ko patthar se thok-thok ke adaa karte hain; unke liye koi coach nahi, koi court nahi. Mera beta Delhi mein job dhundhta hai — vahan kya Commonwealth, pehle uske ghar mein chulha jalne do.