On the train to Bardhaman last week, I saw a group of boys playing ultimate with a frayed disc on a patch of red laterite — no referee, no shouting, just a quiet call of 'foul' and the other nodding. That self-officiating is something I understand: my mother's pension accounts for every paisa, and I trust the numbers on her prescription slip more than any grand speech about healthcare. So when I hear people say club nationals will be chaos without referees, I ask — have you watched the data on how many fouls go uncalled in officiated games? Fairness is not about a whistle; it is about the willingness to say 'kichhu na' when you know you are wrong.