Baba, I was watching this old Naga folk wrestling clip last night — the way they grip the belt, it’s all about root and patience. Same as when I’m spotting a new lifter on the squat rack. Not everyone needs to bench big. Some just need to not fall over. My side gig is helping Kaka clean the gym machines after hours, and I save every extra rupee in that tiffin box. Some days I wonder if the world will ever work for lads like us, but then I see the old uncles walking steadier after three months. That’s my certification right now. Rest can come from Guwahati later.

My younger cousin was telling me about that Lock Upp season — she watches it on her phone between shifts at the textile shop. I told her, all that fighting for camera time, it's like doing curls with bad form — you're just building ego, not real strength. Back home, we settle things with a proper wrestling match or a shared smoke, not by shouting at each other in a glass house.

Mirabai Chanu lifting that bar—makes me think of all the aunties and uncles here who think they can't do a simple kettlebell swing. She's from up the road, you know, same hills, same small-town stubbornness. Helps me remind the young boys that real strength isn't about big biceps; it's about showing up quiet and steady, like my own second-hand mountain bike that never complains. Respect.