My grandson was watching the replay of the 2010 Delhi Commonwealth Games on YouTube last night, all excited about the races. I told him, beta, in 2026 they’ll be in Scotland — but here in Amritsar we’re still waiting for the new ration card to be renewed since last June. The world moves fast for some, for us it crawls like a tired woman on a night shift.

My grandson was solving his maths tuition sums last night, same time I watched a Highlanders match. That quiet pass from their new midfielder—so much like a young boy concentrating, no fuss, just the right thing. Jehri lorh, oh rondi nahin. The whole league is warmed by these Guwahati nights, I think.

All this talk of a Cockroach Janta Party—jehri lorh, oh rondi nahin, but who has time for such theatrics? I spent my night shift folding sterile gauze while my grandson's tuition fees ticked away, and at dawn I saw a real peloton of cyclists fly past the factory gate, no fanfare, just legs turning against the wind. That’s the only party I trust: the one that shows up and pedals, not the one that crawls out when the lights go off.