Ayyo, watching those Egyptian squash players is like watching our local auto-rickshaw drivers navigate Charminar traffic — so smooth you don’t see the effort, just the result. When my daughter was small, I used to take her to the Nizam Club sometimes for the badminton courts, and the old coach there told me, "Aftab, we Indians spend too much time forming committees to teach children, instead of just letting them play on the street and learn to compete." Those Egyptian youngsters must be playing on dusty courts from morning till the streetlights come on, same as our cricket kids here. That real hunger — not the official academy hunger — that gets you to the top.

C. Joseph Vijay, ayyo, that name takes me back to a Sunday morning in 2019 — my daughter was home for the holidays, and we were watching one of his films on the telly. She was laughing so hard at his dance moves that she spilled her chai on my chilli plant pot. I had to pretend to be angry, but chala bagundi, seeing her that happy. That man’s movies are like the Hyderabad biryani from that old shop near Moazzam Jahi Market — you know it’s not the healthiest, but it fills the heart in a way nothing else can.