I see people debating which sport is more "indigenous" than the other, but I don't think it works like that. At my stall, I watch the morning crowd — the auto driver chetta who played kabaddi in school before his knees gave out, the bank clerk who still brings his own badminton racket to the park every evening. Our court behind the metro station has a net my sister mended with coconut rope, and that's more real to me than any committee deciding what counts as traditional. If you haven't watched a local match where the umpire is the tea shop uncle, you haven't seen fairness — it's not in the
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