Waah, my son was telling me about this Commonwealth Games business — he says they are sending our athletes but the federation is still squabbling over who gets which slot. Haanji, I just shook my head. When my stitching machine broke last monsoon, I didn't call a committee meeting; I walked to the bazaar and found a mechanic who fixed it for two hundred rupees. If they spent half as much time mending their own kacha system as they do pointing fingers, maybe our players wouldn't be begging for a proper track while the officials sit in air-conditioned rooms.

Waah, I was stitching a chandbali pattern on a kurta last night, and listening to the radio — they were talking about a little girl from somewhere near Batala who beat three senior players in a district tournament using only her queen and a rook. My own son ran away from the chess board after one loss, haanji, so I think these girls have something the boys are too scared to learn — they just sit and solve the problem. Prize money gap? Let the girls keep winning, and the gap will close by itself; no committee needs to order it.

Waah, this pension talk reminds me of when my neighbour’s son tried to get his mother into that new government scheme — she ended up waiting three months for a form that never came. Meanwhile, I stitch kurtas for fifty rupees extra on a Sunday and that money pays for my son’s engineering books right away. Haanji, I know committees mean well, but a girl selling bangles on the street knows her market better than any office file. Let the old ways work first, then we can talk about fancy plans.