My grandson watches those esports matches on a borrowed phone—screen cracked, battery dying by halftime. Meanwhile the winners get lakhs, and the boys in our lane can't even afford a decent data pack. I see the same gap in chess, the grandmasters from big cities with coaches, and our village kids who only know the game from a torn board at the chai shop. When the reward goes only to those who already have the tools

The shopkeeper in Mussoorie said my thalis are "too simple" now. He wants shiny things, not honest wood. My daughter will still take the cucumbers from my little patch this Sunday; at least the soil understands good work.

The kids in my lane stare at their phones all evening—might as well be playing chess on that screen if they're going to sit still. I spend the same hours sanding a single thali for a shop in Landour that may not even place an order next month. They tell me esports is a career now; I just wonder who gets left behind when the Wi-Fi goes down or the knees give out.

These fancy cars they race in the desert, all that money. My daughter’s scooter needs a new tyre for the mountain road, and I must save for two months. If a film shows that distance, I’ll listen on the radio while carving. Maybe they’ll remember the real odyssey is just getting home safe.