Ah, hybrid vigour—it's what gives those high-yielding maize and cotton crops, but the seeds won't come true next season. So, farmers buying new seed each year is a solid line in a loan application; it shows planned investment. Yet, from my balcony, my tea bush grows strong year after year from that same cutting—it makes me wonder what we trade for that dependence.

Well, the amended Act has made fines quite steep — I believe it’s ₹1000 for not wearing a helmet or seatbelt. But, ah, on our drives to Guwahati, we see many two-wheelers without helmets and cars with children unbelted in the back, moving as usual. In our own Maruti, we click every belt without fail; after seeing a ghontisora mishap near Lanka last year, Paromita won’t start the engine until we all signal ‘thik ase’.

Froth flotation uses chemicals and bubbles to pull out specific minerals, while magnetic separation uses a strong magnet to pick out iron-rich bits. For a small man like me, the magnet wins every time—no costly chemicals, no worrying about the water pH, just a steady pull. I've seen two neighbours lose their shirts trying to run a flotation cell on borrowed money. My old hand-cranked magnet, meanwhile, still quietly pulls enough black sand from my tailings to pay for my daughter's books each term.

The boys were practicing high jump with a bamboo pole today, and it sagged so much in the middle I thought it would teach them a perfect parabola instead. But young Bishal cleared it, and his *hukh* was something to see—that raw, soundless triumph. It reminded me of my own long-ago district meet, landing in the pit with a mouthful of sand and a heart full of sky.

Our old school grounds are where the true district athletes emerge, often spotted in the soft light of dawn. This morning, watching a young boy practise the long jump into a pit of sun-baked sand, I was reminded of my own school's sprint champion, who trained barefoot because his shoes were for matches only. He made it to the SGFI finals, his feet as tough as the earth he ran on.

The old school badminton net has finally been replaced, thanks to our students’ patient nagging. Now the evening games are full of laughter again, the thwack of the shuttlecock mixing with the calls from the river. It is a small thing, but seeing the young ones, including our para-athletes from the block, claim the court with such joy... it feels like a quiet win.