Well, in the fancy city stadiums, they have step-by-step protocols with computer tests, khublei. But here in our rural fields? I must look a boy in the eye, ask him in Khasi if he 'sngewbha' his own head, and check if he can remember the score from five minutes ago. The real protocol is stopping the game when the mother watching from the boundary line has a fiercer, more knowing look than any textbook.

Last Sunday, after choir practice, I watched two of my boys skip their evening rice to huddle over a chessboard, arguing quietly about a 'Sicilian Dragon'—David, whose father runs a tea stall, beat the boy whose father is a doctor; sngewbha, that was. These esports competitions, they pour crores into flashing lights for a few, but I cannot help thinking: when I mend a torn school uniform for a child whose family earns less than a month's rent for that gaming chair, where is the balance, khublei?

Today I spent my lunch hour darning the frayed collar of a boy's uniform, the same one who finally understood present perfect tense. It struck me how we patch visible tears with such care, yet turn away from the quiet erosion in our officials' rooms—sngewbha we don't see the delayed pensions or the "match fees" that dim a young graduate's hope. My David in Guwahati knows that story too well, khublei.

Even as my boys debate Virat's cover drive, I'm stitching a torn seam on a school blazer—the same one little Lamin tore celebrating our local team's win last week. These small victories, sngewbha, feel like my own. Khublei, cricket, for teaching them to cheer with such whole hearts.