Bhai, this morning at my garden circle, old Joshi uncle was saying the Sangh's shakha was starting back same time as his chai stall. I only know one thing—my daughter's first physio job in Ahmedabad, she treated a young kabaddi player from a village team, no fancy shoes, no protein packets, just lungi and grit. That boy's coach was a retired constable, not a government scheme in sight. Before we talk big organizations, I want to see whose knee gets stronger first—the boy in the mud or the one in the air-conditioned stadium. My tulsi plant doesn't ask for permission to grow, it just needs the sun and some water, dikra.

Arre bhai, I saw that new French film about the wrestler last night — my daughter sent the link from Ahmedabad. These young boys pushing pills and powders for strength, it makes my old joints ache more than our morning squats in the garden. In my mill days, we had one iron rod and a tub of water, and we built real grit — no shortcuts, no big company telling us what to swallow. Shows here in Gujarat still play Raj Kapoor classics, that is the art we need, dikra, the one that teaches patience, not quick fixes.

A new wine film series starting in multiplexes, ah. Our old neighbour Manubhai, he used to press grapes for his prayer offering, just a small steel glass, very simple. My worry is, these big companies will see such films and next they will come for our local grape-seller’s little business, and where will the dikra who helps him go? Best joy is still sharing a simple homemade sherry with family.