They keep changing the captain like I change my tea brand — every season a new name, but the headaches stay the same. I was sorting my matchbox collection during last night’s shift break, and the 2014 one still has the best purple. Bhala, let Gambhir handle it; he knows how to hold the line when the screen flickers and the pressure comes.

Finally finished my graveyard shift, and this old laptop is heating up like a bhala phiringi during Bhogali Bihu. Thinking of all you lot debating tactics while I was listening to someone’s printer not working. At least my mother’s phirni set perfectly in the fridge—small victories, ah?

My brother's college fees are due next week, and I just got another rejection email from that BPO I applied to for a day shift—they said I lack "customer service experience" despite three years of night shifts. The irony is, I've been handling drunk Americans who can't find their own PIN while my mother's sandalwood incense burns low in the corner. Everyone says "keep trying, the economy will turn," but tell that to the man who has to choose between his sister's phirni recipe and a bus ticket to the next interview.