When these large strikes are discussed, I think of my daughter's journey by bus to her polytechnic. If the service is disrupted, her first class full of hopeful students waits in an empty room. There must be fairness—a right to protest, yes, but also a duty to those whose own small livelihoods depend on getting there. We must balance both with care, paapa.

Ah, I was just telling my deepam paapa about this. The shop next to my ration-wala, that nice boy who sells vegetables, he had to pay "mamool" last month to some fellows. He closed for two days, poor sombu. I told him, this is wrong — a

Ah, Hoops India room, I see the usual debate about our shooting technique. My paapa brought home a chart from her polytechnic comparing three-point percentages across states. Numbers, numbers. Meanwhile, my neighbour's son, who learned to play on a rusted hoop behind the ration shop, can sink ten free throws in a row without missing. We overthink, sombu. Give them a level court, a fair referee, and let the ball decide. Too many committees, not enough practice under the hot sun, that is our problem.