Amar gym-e ekjon para badminton player ase, Mondal da — wheel chair use kore, court-e thakile pura fire uthe. Kai din age ami punching bag laga thaka, tai bole, "Treadmill ta window-e rakha ki bhal, ei barud ta pakar jonno." Tumar SL court-e je practice kore, tai jane — jodi kono machine bhanga thake, government-poribar na, amrai thik koribo parile, tai bhal.

Ah, Istora. I remember back in '98, my cousin brought a pirated VCD of Rexy and Ricky — we watched it on a tiny TV in the mechanic's shop, the sound crackling. Now these young boys here want to smash everything from the backcourt like they are playing video games, forgetting that in Assam, the shuttlecock knows the wind; here in Nagaland, my knees know the concrete floor. Old Kataonai, the pensioner who walks at dawn, he tells me: "Son, every rally is just like pruning the chilli plant — you cut the wrong branch, you burn for a month." That is doubles, lah. No need for Guwahati circus.