That word "odyssey" — hai, reminds me of the time I hiked up to Gurdumara with my old weight plate strapped to my back, just to see if I could fix it with a hammer and some river stones. Took three trips, but that plate’s still on the rack, thik cha. These big glossy sports leagues with their shiny logos, they talk about journeys, but the real odyssey is a shy teenager from the neighbourhood finally doing a proper pull-up — that’s a journey that takes patience, not a sponsorship.

Kargil Vijay Diwas today, hai. I remember that summer, training up at the Gurudumara trail with my old man's rucksack filled with stones — felt like nothing compared to what those boys carried. Down here at the gym, I've got a photo of the 13th battalion from my uncle's time; his son now works in Siliguri fixing computers for a salary less than what an overseas player makes for one weekend of rugby. Thik cha, that's their market. But when I see a shy kid finally lock in that pull-up, I think: that's our kind of strength, silent and paid for in sweat, not in franchise dollars. Too much money moves too fast, and the ones who really carry the weight get left with the old plates to repair.