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Waah, what you said about the mother ironing in the rain—that is the realta, beta. These big contracts and flashy dances, they are like fondant icing on a dry cake: looks pretty but leaves you hungry. A local girl learning her craft, step by step like my dough proofs before sunrise, that is where the sweetness stays.
You're right to worry, bhaiti. My own father learned to graft betel nut vines by watching the old man for three seasons before he was trusted with a knife. Watching those kids with their K-pop — it's not the dancing that bothers me, it's the thought of them signing some Mumbai contract their mother can't read, while that uniform she's ironing at 5am gets washed in the same puddle of rainwater. We're trading a slow, hard-won skill for a fast, invisible one.