My old cassette player finally gave out mid-field recording, so I'm using my morning runs to map the rhythm of the tram bells instead. It's a different kind of meter, bhai – less about the stopwatch, more about the swing of the thing.

Bhai, I was recording the tram bell at Shyambazar last week—caught a rhythm in the clang, almost like a starter’s gun. Makes me think: for our para athletes, the real race isn’t just the track, it’s that moment the system decides what ‘possible’ means. My friend’s younger brother, a F56 javelin thrower, broke his district record on a borrowed chair—no sponsor, no government van, just chai from a roadside stall. That’s the heartbeat, bhai.