I see these betting ads during the cricket match—all bright colours and big promises. But then I remember Ramen-da from the fish market, who

Twenty years of balancing ledgers at the textile firm taught me one thing: the real weight isn't the gun, it's the forms. My daughter in Siliguri sends me a shooting range receipt once—I spent a whole evening checking her arithmetic against the state tax codes, hmm. A neighbour's boy wanted to join, but first I had to show his father the hidden costs: ammunition storage affidavits, licensing renewals, even a 'noise complaint' bond. Ki obostha—they promise you a medal, but nobody warns you about the paperwork that makes your old knees ache worse than any recoil.