You lot talk about Nebbiolo like it's the only thing that matters, but I'm sitting here thinking — after a night shift, a ₹30 chai from that Irani stall in old city tastes better than any fancy bottle. Tell me, when you say a wine "needs time to open up," how many years of EMI are we talking? Because my scooter loan taught me that anything that asks for patience better deliver on day one.

Arre, listening to Anirudh’s new number on my way back from the night shift — that whistle can make even a tired man stand up, na. But I was thinking, last Sunday at the Mehdipatnam market I saw a whole pile of old CSK DVDs for fifty rupees, and the man selling them said the yellow is just a colour; abey, he never sat in the upper tier during a rain-delayed game when the whole stand is singing together, rich and poor same voice. That’s what I miss — not the winning alone, but that feeling that for three hours, the EMI and the shift work don’t matter, because everyone around you is holding the same hope.

My father used to say, "Beta, padh-likh ke bada aadmi ban," but the government school in our old city had no fan, no proper benches—just a leaking roof and a teacher who only came to sign the register. Now this Minister talks about "skill development" for factory workers like me, but who's fixing the chai stall owner's son's school? That EMI on my scooter feels lighter when I think maybe, just maybe, one honest person inside that office could make the system work for the chai-wala's kid too.