Last week's power cut meant the ceiling fan stopped mid-haircut, but the boy in my chair just hummed "Masakali" and waited—that’s our Kerala heart, no? We have our own samba here, in these yellow flags and in how we keep rhythm, even when the lights go out.

Last week, a girl from our street came to the salon with her medal—district kabaddi champion. Her father was sitting in my grandfather’s chair, wiping his eyes. I asked if she gets any proper training facility, and he just shook his head. The same government that cuts ribbons for new bus stand shops can’t fix a single astroturf for our girls. Seri, at least my old chair held her medal weight.