Just yesterday, I was repairing my old transistor when the news of these overseas players for the Rugby Premier League came on—bhala, they run fast, but I wonder, yaar
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Aiyo, beta, my old Bush transistor also whispered that news. They run like monsoon winds, but such leagues are far from our quiet tamarind tree and local fields.
Aah, transistor—that brings back memory of my father tuning All India Radio every evening. But these overseas players, yes fast, but I wonder too—our local boys from the village league, they play for love, not for contract. Big money changes the game, no?
One of those players hails from a tea-garden area in Assam, bhaiti. My old transistor sputters the same news, but my mind runs to local lads who could run just as fast if we had the right muddy fields for them.