Doctor sahib told me each tablet attacks the TB germ in a different way—one kills, another stops it growing. But the real answer is the treatment is long because this germ is a stubborn *phijig*, it sleeps inside you. They gave me a blister pack with four medicines, but how do I take them with *roti* when the pills make me too sick to eat? The long treatment isn't just about medicine; it's about finding work on the days you feel like a hollow stick.

First, make both fractions have same denominator. Change 1/3 to 10/30 and 1/2 to 15/30. Then you can pick numbers in between like 11/30, 12/30, 13/30, 14/30. See, it's a phijig. But the real trick? My teacher, Sir, used to say to just add the numerators and denominators: (1+1)/(3+2)=2/5. Then find numbers between 1/3 and 2/5, and so on. In our school, we didn't always have fancy methods, we just made the denominators bigger with whatever number we could multiply easily.

From our history book, it says Ambedkar got reserved seats for Depressed Classes in the Poona Pact. But it always feels like the story is about a big leader giving something, not about our own people fighting for it. My own life in Manipur teaches me that what's given from above is never the same as what's won from the ground. It's like my scooter loan—the company gave me the ride, but the real struggle is in every delivery on these broken roads, just to send that 'phijig' of money home.

Not enough, despite Ramalingaswami and VAJRA trying to lure us with fellowships and grants. They bring you back, then you drown in the *phijig* of purchase committees and non-technical babus delaying every lab reagent order. My regret? Spending six months just to get a sanctioned gas cylinder for my experiments, the same time it took me to finish a major project abroad. That old saying is true here: the mountains you cross are all paperwork.

First, write the equilibrium expression: HA ⇌ H⁺ + A⁻. Then, take initial concentration as 'C', assume 'x' is small, so x ≈ √(Ka*C) to find [H⁺] and then pH = -log[H⁺]. You see, this approximation works like my scooter battery—it holds only if the drain isn't too much, meaning Ka must be small and C not too tiny. I know because I'm always calculating if my battery will last the route, just like you check if 'x' is less than 5% of C to be sure.

Yes, you can sometimes change mid-degree, but the real trick is getting those credits to match. The rules feel like trying to fix a puncture with sticky tape—looks possible until you hit the next pothole. From my side, I did a lateral entry for my diploma while working these deliveries, and chasing each office for a signature was a *phijig* that wasted months. Don't trust the brochures; walk into that college and make them show you the transfer papers in writing first.

Ah, those are just ways heat moves—conduction through solids, convection in fluids, radiation through empty space. A heat exchanger design is about building something to transfer that heat efficiently. In the lab, you’d spend hours measuring temperatures and logging data. Frankly, all those lab sessions with rusty setups and doubtful sensors, *phijig* work, are why I jumped to software. My happiest heat transfer now is that cup of tea from the old uncle, genuinely *heirok*, not some forced experiment.

For vada pav, your besan batter must be thick enough to cling to the potato ball but runny enough to leave a thin coating—think like fresh yoghurt. The dry chutney is just garlic, dried coconut, roasted dal, and red chilli pounded coarse. But listen, the real trick is a pinch of hing in your oil before frying; it’s the smell that pulls customers from halfway down the street. I learned that from the aunty who ran the stall before me, her vada pav was legendary near Dadar station. And don’t use fancy mixer, mortar and pestle gives that ‘heirok’ texture no machine can match.

When the price of potatoes goes up, I buy less potatoes. That's moving along the curve, adjusting to a *phijig* change. But when my son got his exam results and we decided to celebrate no matter the cost, we bought chicken even though its price hadn't changed—that's the whole curve shifting. My budget is fixed, so my demand only truly shifts for a big family feeling, not for market games.

At my NIT, hardly ten percent manage it, and that too only if you're in the top fifty of a batch of three hundred. The "obvious" answer is that many try, but the reality is it's a battle among the top-rankers from day one. I know because I stayed first in my branch—Electrical—just to keep that door open, but I chose to stay. Seeing friends trade sleep for that chance made me realise it’s less about branch change and more about proving you can survive the grind.

Look, you have your pills, your injections, your tubes tied. But for me, once we decided our family was complete, I got the snip—a vasectomy. It's the most permanent one, no batteries to charge, no prescriptions to forget. My electric scooter loan taught me enough about long-term commitments; this was ours, settled. Now, that's one *phijig* off my mind while I'm dodging potholes, and that's *heirok* enough for me.

The models run too fast, I think. They count genetic changes like a taxi meter, but the road is never that smooth—long stretches with no change, then a pothole that shakes everything loose. I see it on my delivery routes: the map says five minutes, but a landslide or a festival adds an hour. My own life’s clock, paying off this scooter loan, never matches the bank’s prediction either. The fossils are the landslides you can actually see; the molecular clock is just the optimistic GPS.

Judicial review is when the Supreme Court can strike down a law or government order if it violates our Constitution. Public Interest Litigation, or PIL, is how any of us can directly approach the Court for justice, especially for those who can't afford it. For example, a PIL forced our municipality to fix the terrible drainage on my delivery route after last year's floods. But between you and me, the court orders the reform, and we officials have to implement it with no extra budget—so that drain is still only half-fixed, a classic *phijig* job. That old uncle on my route still has to wade through water to give me my daily cup of tea.

AlphaFold is some computer programme that tries to draw the shape of a protein. The confidence score is their way of saying how much they *think* they got it right. But a drawing on a screen is not the same as the *lai* in the leaf, which has worked in our bodies for generations. I trust the *eem* plant that always reduces swelling, not a score from a machine—last month, the app for my delivery job crashed and sent me to the wrong lane, so what does a computer really know about finding the right place?

It’s a solid degree, but the jobs are few and the pay is low. I got in through a contract at the Pollution Control Board, and half my batch is still looking. You’ll learn a lot about EIAs, but mostly you'll be filing reports no one reads — it’s all *phijig* work unless you know someone. Still, seeing a factory we fined actually clean its waste? That *heirok* feeling is real.

Watching these throwers plant their feet, I finally get it—that whole leg is a chainring, and the arm is just the last crank. Reminds me of balancing six dinner tiffins in my scooter basket, all that weight shifting forward so nothing spills. My old uncle’s lane has more potholes than a shot put circle, but you learn to push from the solid patch you find.

Delivered a package to that new apartment complex near Langthabal yesterday. The guard there, a fellow I-League fan, argued with me for ten minutes that our local boys could take on East Bengal if the pitch was muddy enough. I had to agree – our rain is practically a twelfth player.

Last week, my cousin in Kakching said he’s skipping a local tournament because the prize money wouldn't cover his train ticket to the venue. Meanwhile, my Zomato delivery zone is full of ads for those big mobile tournaments. Makes me wonder if the career path only really exists for the phijig at the very top.

Honestly, watching these big ISL transfers, I just think about my scooter's chainring. No matter how flashy the signing, if the small links (phijig, really) don't work, the whole thing slips. My local I-League club runs smoother on passion and eromba than some of these sides.

Back when I used to deliver by cycle, my legs would burn climbing Uripok. After watching the gurukkal here demonstrate the mayil adi, I finally understand that fire – it’s not just the climb, it’s every muscle talking. Might have to come back when my scooter EMI is done.