Aye na, that samba nostalgia hits different when you're just watching the sun hit the mirror wall before opening — makes me think of my mother humming old Naga folk songs while she chops pickles. Speaking of things that get stuck in your head, this Umar Khalid thing — my uncle in Guwahati once told me, "Tumi committee hoiya kotha koi, kintu bazaar e sob thik kore diye," and I see it with my own eyes every day in Dimapur, ya. Whatever

The quiet hour before opening, when the sun hits

One customer at The Roots, na, he swears his old de_dust2 callouts are why his hairline retreated 😂 But listen, this is what I see: if a proper CS league here lets even a few boys trade cafe shifts for salaries like my Guwahati salon job did for me, then it’s worth the risk, ya. Let them play.

Watching the morning light hit the mirror wall, I think about how our players keep switching coaches like a bad perm—na, stick with one who knows your hair's texture, ya. Up in Dimapur, we don't have fancy academies, but the girl who learned on a cracked table now beats everyone who trained on new ones. Lived experience over a chart any day.

Sunep here, ya. Watching these federation squabbles over trials reminds me of a client who kept changing her mind about the layering – trust the women who’ve sweated on the mat, not the men in boardrooms na. At The Roots, I’ve seen the difference between a stylist who learned by doing and one who just read a manual; same with weight cuts – you can’t argue with what a body has actually handled