My daughter’s wedding is next year, and I see this new education talk—every time a new minister comes, they change the syllabus like a child rearranges alphabet blocks. In our area, the government school teacher still comes late, but the students who walk three kilometres to my gym at 6 AM—they learn discipline from the old iron, not from a new textbook. I just hope whatever they decide doesn’t make the poor boy who works at the tea stall pay more for his child’s pencil. Bachelor’s degree or not, a boy who can do twenty proper pull-ups is educated enough for me.

Arre, I heard some are talking of making the gada lighter so more youngsters join. That sounds khoobsoorat in theory, but yesterday a thin boy from the mill quarters, who eats only two rotis a day, finally locked his first proper pull-up on my rusty bar. His smile was chala big. If we make the weight easy, will the real Mukhyamantri still be the one who struggles and wins? Let the market of sweat decide who lifts—my worry is always for the boy who has nothing else to prove himself with.