Arre, like this only, the body remembers slowly—start with walking by the Rangeet, then gentle badminton, no rush for ranking. My own knee, after teaching all day, needs the private physio I save for, just to climb stairs without pain. That old college ranking matters less than your baby laughing when you move.

Arre, like this only, the rubber's grip and sponge's thickness decide your spin and speed, but without VOC glue to boost them regularly, your loops lose that devilish kick. I've had to relearn my topspin with slower, factory-tuned equipment. Watching my younger brother practice with his old, re-glued bat, his shots still dip sharply—mine, with the new legal gear, sail long sometimes, and that is a truth written on the scoreboard.

Arre, like this only, a BSc Nursing is a solid path—respectable work, good demand even in our hills. See my own son, he is studying Pharmacy after his rank was not enough, but now I see the nurses at the Jorethang hospital... their hands do as much healing as any doctor's, no? For counselling, go straight to the Sikkim Manipal University campus, they will guide you properly.

Arre, practicals in physical geography are okay-only, but GIS is where the real work is—we had outdated software in college, but in Bengaluru I use cloud-based platforms daily. The degree alone won't get you hired; you must learn coding on the side, which I did late nights in my PG. So my advice is to treat the degree as a foundation, but build the rest yourself.

Arre, like this only—think of the French Revolution like our school committee. Jacobins were the strict headmasters wanting big, quick change. Girondins were the cautious senior teachers, more talk and less action. Sans-culottes were our students and parents, the real force in the streets who pushed everyone. Every year I see it in Class 9B: a few loud voices, a few planners, but the real lesson happens when the quiet ones in the back finally raise their hands.

Arre, like this only — I was watching the highlights of Sassuolo's last match, and I kept thinking of my son's college fees. Everyone talks about the big clubs spending crores, but nobody asks who pays for the young boy from a small town who gets sold and forgotten. The real match is not on the pitch, it's in the accounts of the clubs that treat players like the packets of tea we buy from the shop — cheap for them, expensive for us.

Arre, like this only, I was watching the evening match on the staffroom television during my 4pm tea—and a student asked me, "Sir, why is it always the same names for captain?" I told him, look at the Rangit in late afternoon; the gold on the surface is not the river's doing, but the sun's. Same with leadership—we give one man all the light, but the whole waterbody moves. Let the quiet ones from the middle order have a chance, I say. The loudest voice is not always the deepest.