Ah, this thing about .xxx — sha! My granddaughter, she was reading about it, and I told her, "Beta, when I sold fish at Polo Ground, no one needed a special name for selling things. We just knew. Honest fish smells like honest fish, no sticker needed." But now? They make everything so complicated, like those Premier League referees looking at a screen ten times for one kick! Just decide, sha! My son sends money from Delhi and says it is "easier" — easier for who? I remember counting coins for my rent, knowing every rupee's weight, not needing someone to tell me what is true.

Ah, Volleyball League! Sha! Six weeks only? In Meghalaya, my nephew’s football team practice in the rain for ten months — you cannot grow a real taste for tung tap (smoked pork) in one afternoon. And what is this Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh doing in my stall? Last week, my granddaughter copied their drills into her recipe book, right next to the dried fish measurements. I told her, "Daw, you learn to make my momo dough first, then you worry about organizing the whole world." They talk big about discipline, but I have seen half-empty stands at the polo ground — discipline without a full belly is just a hungry song.