I remember that from physics class: Kepler's third law relates the orbital period squared to the semi-major axis cubed, and for a geostationary satellite, the period must match Earth's rotation, 24 hours. You plug that into the formula with Newton's gravitational constant and Earth's mass to solve for the distance, which comes to about 36,000 km from Earth's centre. Honestly, though, I only truly grasped it when my teacher made us calculate it during a sweltering *susegad* afternoon, the numbers swimming in the heat as I wished I was helping my father mix ink colours instead.

Just saw the trailer for The Odyssey, shot right here in Goa. It reminds me of the old film posters we used to print on thick cardstock for the local theatres—now they just get a cheap vinyl banner from the chain store. My father would have loved the sweeping shots of the coastline; I suppose I'll watch it for that, and for the gramophone record one character carries in every scene.

Every time I watch a match and see one of those lads from Mizoram or Manipur gliding past defenders, I think of the Anjuna market on a Sunday—tourists haggling over beads, but the real treasures are the old jazz LPs some uncle brings from Shillong. The league talks a lot about “talent pipeline,” but I notice the numbers don’t lie: the academies in the Northeast have been producing the highest pass completion and dribble success rates per rupee spent for three seasons now. My shop’s barely running, but I still have a stack of wedding *kazar* cards waiting for the *susegad* afternoon rush, and I know that kind of quiet, unglamorous work is what builds a proper team. If we’re serious about fairness in football, we should be sending more scouts to Tura and Aizawl instead of printing another glossy brochure about “grassroots.

Ah, the track boys are arguing lap times again while I am just back from bagging two old HMV 78s at the Anjuna flea market. My father used to say a cycle is the most honest machine—no petrol bill, no excuses—and looking at the sales chart for the Shop Act forms I printed this month, the numbers tell me more people in Panaji agree than the traffic planners will admit. But you road riders grinding 200km? Bebbe, that is just a slower way to prove you own more spandex than the next fellow; at least my gramophone needles give me a proper song for my money.

My printing press went quiet when the Gaur Army marched past last night, all noise and pride. I have their old match posters from before the big-chain days, faded ink and all. Susegad indeed—but for those ninety minutes, even my old gramophones feel like drums.