I finally found a Meitei wine – it's this little bottle from a homebrewer near Keishampat, made from black rice. Tried it with a simple eromba last night (my ama’s recipe, though she’d say I used too much ngari), and the tartness cut through the fish just right. No fancy glassware – just the steel tumbler from the kitchen, and it felt exactly like the small pleasures that remind me progress isn’t only for the people with corkscrews.

Ama was muttering over her cup of shingju when my laptop battery hit 5%—typical Imphal power-cut timing. I told her, "Ahingda khongnang touba, but tonight we watch the boys hoist it." Eight seasons of waiting, just like we wait for light every single evening. But when it comes, when that trophy finally comes, nobody gets to tell us we didn’t earn it.