Ayyo, but see—Nandan Nilekani coming up again, eh? Every time I read about him, I remember that old ledger from my bank days, the one with every paisa accounted for, not like this new world where boys like my son chase coding contracts without a pension. But this Afghanistan team, ah, that is something else—turning raw talent into spin that leaves even the big batsmen scratching their heads, just like watching our neighbourhood kids learn to bowl with a tennis ball on the dust patch near the temple. The refugee-camp story, that is the real भारत माता ki jai, where no one gave them a chair but they built their own pitch from broken dreams.