Oh yaar, the PYP Exhibition is when they make those little ones carry the world's worries on their small shoulders. To choose a 'real issue', they must find a big problem and take action, but I saw my granddaughter so stressed, she cried over saving the rain forest instead of playing. In my time, our real issue was if the monsoon would fill the well—that was inquiry enough. Now, her action project just gave her a headache, and I think a child's peace is more important.

Beta, think of it like a happy train ride inside you! From the mouth, it goes down the food pipe, gets churned in a stomach lake, then the small intestine takes all the goodness, leaving the rest for the large intestine to finish. I draw this journey with chalk on the blackboard, using a train with compartments, because my old science charts are too faded for the children to see.

Sponsored seat means your company pays for your MTech while you keep your job, self-sponsored is when you pay your own fees and leave work to study full-time, and non-GATE is a seat you get without that exam, often costing more. A sponsorship letter from your company is a promise to pay, but it also ties you to them for years after. In my time, we valued such security, but now I see my daughter's friends in Pune break those bonds for better opportunities, yaar. My own small abacus taught me the cost of every bead; today, the real cost might be the freedom you trade for that ghee.

Accha, yaar, they say that Act gives fair compensation and consent, but from my bus window, I see empty plots for years while we sit in this jam. Maybe the rules are good on paper, but on ground, something gets stuck. My own brother in Ranchi waited two years for his payment when the highway came—his small field gone, his money hanging. So I think the delay is not in the law, but in the getting it done.

Nominal value is the original price printed on the share certificate, yaar, while market value is what people are actually willing to pay for it today. ROI, or return on investment, is simply the total profit you make from dividends and price changes. My old abacus could calculate these figures, but bas, it never told you about the company's heart—like how my daughter's steady calls are the real dividend of my life, more certain than any market price.

Beta, remember the formula: Kp = Kc (RT)^(Δn). The key is counting Δn, the moles of gas products minus moles of gas reactants. Forget solids and liquids, count only gases. My old abacus used to help with counting, yaar. These days, my daughter reminds me over the phone, "Papa, check the states, (g), (l), (s)… it's all in the balancing." Her clarity makes it simple.

The Emergency was when they took our voices and our rights in the night. The Shah Commission later called it a gross abuse of power, but no report could give back those lost years. The 44th Amendment tried to ensure such darkness could not return so easily. My brother spent eighteen months in jail, yaar, for printing pamphlets. So for us, the amendment is just words on paper; the fear never really left our home.

To my generation, they were all big government words for the same thing: getting more milk and grain to people like us. The Green Revolution gave us cheaper wheat for our rotis, and the White Revolution, which was Operation Flood, made milk not a luxury. But yaar, the truth is in my kitchen today: the milk tastes watery compared to the thick, creamy milk from our local dairy in Ranchi, and the atta doesn’t have the same hearty smell. These revolutions filled bellies, but I think they also took away some taste.

Acha, so the doctors say it's the salted tea and smoked meats in Kashmir, and the betel nuts in the north-east. But yaar, in my own childhood in Bihar, we had none of those things, and my mama still passed from it. What I saw was the worry—the constant strain of making ends meet that burns inside you hotter than any mirch. My own worry now is the price of ghee, and I feel that same old heat in my chest when I see the bill. Sometimes, I think the body cooks its own trouble from the inside, fed by a life of small, hard struggles.

The IB diploma can cost a few lakhs a year, yaar—school fees plus that big IB exam fee. But for a career shift? That's a heavy load for most of us. My daughter in Pune tells me of young professionals taking big loans for such courses, and I feel that worry in my bones, like checking the ghee tin and knowing the parathas must wait. Sometimes the straight path is too costly.

The IISER programme is tough, my friend, but very structured. They start with common science subjects for two years, then you choose a major, and the final year is for a big research project. But, yaar, hearing this makes me think of my own struggle with English in college—so much time spent just understanding the words, not the science. The real challenge isn't the structure, it's feeling at home in a language that isn't your own.

Yaar, just write five clear points in five lines, bas – my teacher said more is noise. Last year I wrote pages like an essay and still failed. The cutting is for messy handwriting and wrong dates, like when I mixed up 1857 and 1947. My father says even his old abacus needs clear beads to count.

These young players from Simdega, they move like the wind through sal trees, yaar. Reminds me of my nephew's boy in Khunti, who practises with a bamboo stick and a guava for a puck. My old radio crackles with their matches, and for a while, I forget about the price of ghee.

Our weightlifting hall at Khuman Lampak smells of old sweat and strong liniment, just like the gym in Ranchi where I trained as a young man. Every grunt and clang of those iron plates takes me back, yaar. Keep lifting, the nation watches with pride.

They say they changed the tackle rules for more action, yaar. My old abacus could count how many times a defender’s good ankle hold gets called a foul now. Let's see if this 'improvement' actually helps the boys on the mat, or just the scoreboard.

Yaar, in my Ranchi days, we played kabaddi in the dusty office compound after hours. To see Manipur's young ones turning their ancient games like thang-ta into world-class sport... it reminds me why a strong foundation, like their hostel system, matters so much. That state’s passion is like ghee in aaloo paratha – the essential, glorious touch.