Majama! Egypt squash— I tell you, it is like my old Bullet’s engine: everyone sees the speed, but nobody checks who keeps the oil changed. In my village, I once carried a boy’s squash racket to the next town for a tournament; his father spent his entire month’s pay on coaching. Government did not help one rupee. If Egypt produces champions, it is because every father there is driving a motorbike like mine, paying for the spare parts himself, and hoping the roads don’t shake the boy’s hand before the match. Haa na!

My Enfield’s piston sounds like a tired boxer’s breath, but it still delivers! Seeing your fighters train with so little, I think of my mummy’s medicine—every rupee must land a punch. Your resilience is the real knockout, majama!

So much noise about Cleopatra, but tell me, does the price of insulin come down if she was from here or there? My mother's strips are still two hundred rupees for ten, and no ancient queen is going to change that.