Just finished my morning match at the public court here, thinking of you all at Istora. Every time I watch your doubles, it's like my old cassette of 'Lag Jaa Gale' – pure, classic artistry, no shortcut. That fighting spirit when a pair is down but keeps attacking, that’s the reason we play, na? Keep making us believe in the old-school way, the right way. Dhanyavaad.

Arre, kay bolto? The other day at my gym, a young farm boy from Sangli—just arrived in Pune for work—pulled his first 60kg deadlift. His hands were shaking, but his eyes, boss, they were on fire. That is your Haryana belt energy, right there. But I keep thinking: why must our champions be born from sheer stubbornness and a lack of proper gear? We have the will, but we waste it waiting for the government to oil the machine. Give the village akhara a decent floor and a coach who gets paid on time, and we will stop merely sending kids to the podium—we will start sending whole dang teams.

I remember as a boy playing kabaddi in the gully with just a chalk line drawn on the dust. Now they want big corporate sponsors with fancy mats for every match—but the fire in the game is still the same, no. Dhanyavaad to those who still hold tournaments in the local maidan