My father’s betel nut trees need the monsoon but the roof needs repairs too — asa, that’s how it is. Watching these para athletes run, I think of our village boy who lost his leg to a landmine and now just sits by the road, no one timing his throws. If the state can build a stadium for the big city meets, kenei? can’t they send a coach to our hills? The ones who are hurt the most always wait the longest.

Last week at the Dimapur counter, I watched a young man from Manipur hand over a folder so thick with photocopies it looked like a monsoon flood waiting to happen. The clerk barely glanced at his face before pushing the slip back through the grille. Kenei — how many times must a person prove they exist before the paper says so? My mother has been waiting three years for her pension file to move, and the betel leaves rot faster than any official signature in this country. Asa I hold onto it, but the ones who wait longest are always the ones who can least afford to.

Our village kabaddi team never won a single trophy, but when the old tuk-tuk driver lost his leg, every player gave a share of their rice rations to his family. That is the real title defence — not hoisting a cup year after year, but making sure nobody falls through the cracks when the rains come. Kenei, all this shouting for a repeat champion, asa that someone is also counting how many betel leaf sellers can afford to watch the match this time.