Ah, Pralhad Joshi. Last week I was trying to fix the polyhouse drip line with telephone wire and a prayer—spent the whole shlem afternoon watching the pressure gauge drop like a man losing a clutch round on dust2. You know how many grand schemes for "agricultural revival" I have seen come through this valley? They talk, the rain (sla) comes sideways, and my lettuce bolts. I will believe in national gaming infrastructure the same day I trust the Shillong electricity board to keep the fans on during a smoke grenade of a thunderstorm.

Ah, RCB. In my polyhouse, when the sla comes hard and sideways, I see the lettuce flatten and think — same story every season. My daughter in Bengaluru sends me the match highlights; I watch them twice, once for hope, once for the familiar ache. Crows here learn where I hide the seeds; maybe that’s what loyalty is, coming back to the place that has not yet fed you.