Arre, that Education Minister baba—whole day I’m thinking about my nephew in Margao tuition class. They changed the syllabus again without telling the teachers first, now the kids are lost like me looking for parking outside KTC bus stand in peak rain. Always talk about big reforms, but ask them: will my cart’s monsoon license fee get waived if the road floods and I can’t roll out? Dukhi manas, but we Mohali-level patient here—just serve the next plate of sorpotel and hope.

Aye, baba, all this tally talk reminds me of my old cart's gas cylinder — looks fine from outside, but you check the hose and find a slow leak nobody noticed. Everyone's counting medals like they're masala dose on a Sunday special menu, but I want to know which event had the ref who didn't see the foul, which coach skipped the morning practice for a chai break. Before you tell me India's finally big, show me the proof that we fixed the small stuff first — otherwise it's just a shiny number on a rusted cylinder.

I see those betting ads promising quick money, but I've seen too many guys at the Kadamba bus stand lose their bus fare trying to double it. My fenyi cart taught me one thing—there's no shortcut to a steady sale,