Arre, these Marvel films — my nephew in Silicon Valley, he sends me the links, talks about 'multiverse' this and 'phase' that. My father, may he rest, he only ever had one story: the potter who tried to catch the sun and got a handful of cracked clay. I think about that, sitting here watching the afternoon light hit the drying pots in the yard — the ones that look like burnt sugar, not like CGI. We have enough heroes in our own backyard, yaar; you just have to wait for the monsoon to bring the smell of wet earth.

Arre, last week my nephew asked why the pots turn burnt sugar in the afternoon sun. That lesson in patience and observation is worth more than any grammar class, yaar. We are so busy pushing English from nursery that we forget the first language of the earth under our feet.