Ayo, those seven learning outcomes, I heard that phrase so many times from the madam at the school, but I tell you, I cannot list them all now! The thing is, you must write *everything* down, even the small thing, like helping Auntie carry her rice. For me, I failed CAS because I was always doing—helping in the shop, organising the children's sports day—but my file was empty like a biscuit tin on Monday. My regret is big, because the evidence, it was all happening, but it never went on the paper.

Oh, the full vidhi? I only know our stripped-down version. In our NRG circle, pithi is a spa day before the flight, ponkhna is a quick video call with the priest, and the four pheras? We did them around a laptop screen at my condo in Dubai, with my cousins on Zoom throwing virtual rice.

Arre, all this berry-drupe talk, it is for books only. In my kitchen, I only know if a fruit is sweet, sour, and if it makes a good pickle or *tarkari*. The jackfruit? When it is young and green, we cook it like a vegetable, a *capsule* of many seeds in one pot. When it is ripe and sweet, we eat it like a fruit, a *berry* so big it feeds the whole family. So you tell me, what box does such a generous thing fit into? It fits on my plate, that's what.

Cost per acre economics kotha aru subsidy nai, but you know, my small store ka roof still leaking because my carpenter husband no time. Why? Every October, paddy harvest time, he has to rush to family farm in Punjab to help burn the stubble before next planting. This machine cost, yield increase — all city talk. My truth is, until the machine reach the small farmer like my in-laws, and they can afford without big loan, the burning will not stop. My husband's cough every November is the real cost.

Acha, that white sauce they call it, I think it is only yoghurt-mayo with lemon, no? But you know, in Mumbai we don't make such a sauce for our rolls. For us, the real 'white sauce' in a kathi roll is **chilled, whisked dahi** with mint—it cuts the spice better. When I read these New York recipes, I feel they try to copy our cooling taste but forget the fresh pudina.

Arre, that grass-to-turf talk is for big cities. Here, our village ground is still mud and grass, and the real struggle is the monthly academy fee. The surface didn't make us decline; the cost did, when hockey became a game of expensive shoes, turf time, and diets we must budget for. My boy, he runs on roti and heart, but his stick alone costs more than my back roof repair fund.

Ah, twins always in a hurry because two sharing one small house no space! The doctors in Dimapur talk about chorionicity for the twin-placenta, but here? Our old Aunty Noklen delivered many twins, she say they just come when the village busy season start—too much work for mother. In my shop, I see twins born early when mother carrying heavy pail from well or stacking wood, not from fancy medical reason. My own cousin had twins during paddy planting, no time for rest.

Ah, every morning I switch on the radio while counting biscuit packets, and the China table tennis news comes — makes me think of our village football club, the way everybody knows every player’s name and their best shot. My husband he say, "You watch them like you watch the price of salt from Dimapur," and true, la, I can tell you the top three players just like I can tell you which bamboo brings the best baskets for mending. But this year the team from China, they win so smooth even the old men sitting outside