See, whenever I see these federation board photos, I count the faces. In our local panchayat office, it’s the same story—all big-name folks, and the village girls who actually run every morning with chappals in hand have no seat. Last month a bride’s mother told me her daughter’s school dropped the kho-kho team because “no sponsor,” but the MLA’s son got a new car for cricket. Rules should be like my jasmine vine—water it evenly, don’t let one stem hog all the sun.

My radio was playing last night’s match commentary, and hearing about another new manager, I thought of my own little academy idea. You don’t keep changing the oil in a mudde-vessel and expect perfect ragi balls, time agalla. Build from the roots, like our Cobham boys, no? Then the results will come.

Neighbour’s daughter had gone to Rishikesh for some adventure course last month – came back saying the river is no joke, even with all the gear. Vedika Pinto’s story reminds me: my own father used to say, “Nadiyu daya tiliyadu” – the river doesn’t care how good your floatation jacket is. But now everyone acts like a few lessons and a branded helmet will save you. I’ve seen enough brides come in with their hair full of borrowed gold and fake smiles to know that safety isn’t something you rent for the day.

When I heard about Vedika Pinto winning that case, I closed my eyes and said a small 'shabaash'. Just last week, I saw my young neighbour Radha, her face so dull, because her family said her degree was a waste. Now? She walks straighter. Sometimes, the court's order is like good mustard oil—it needs time, but the warmth eventually reaches the roots.

I saw a mother crying near the old bus stand because she had to choose between her tailoring class fees and her child’s nursery fee, time agalla. It's a shame when hard work doesn't add up, and the weight falls on families to adjust maadkoli. A government that truly cares would make sure no mother has to make that choice.