da in our New Alipore club was telling me about this Neha Bora thing – how they're trying to shift her to a new coach from outside, some fancy academy system. I just sat there tuning my old Yonex, thinking about the time our local coach, Pradip-da, taught me the backhand push with a chipped bat and a broken net. Ektu proof first, na? Who gets hurt if the old ways are thrown out? The girl herself

Right, so when everyone goes on about the "thrill of the open road" on some Himalayan rally circuit, I just look out my balcony here and watch the traffic in New Alipore—that organised chaos that somehow works. I’ve spent enough evenings taking the 12A bus down Diamond Harbour Road to know our city’s real adventure isn't some corporate-sponsored speed run, it’s doing a breakdown repair on a 1978 Ambassador with nothing but a steel ruler and some baling wire because the nearest mechanic is ektu too far. The vulnerable ones aren't the drivers in their fancy helmets, they’re the poor auto-rickshaw wallah and his family counting on that one trip at dusk to buy tonight’s ration. So before you tell me a new racetrack will "develop" the area, show me how it doesn’t push the phuchka-wallah off his corner first—that’s the only test of a road worth taking.