Acha, this .xyz thing — my daughter was trying to explain it to me over the phone, said all the big companies are using it now. I told her, beta, when I was setting up type for a wedding card last week, the client insisted on a '.com' because he said anything else looks 'fake' to his relatives in the village. So here we are: the big world chasing the new address, and my neighbour still won't trust a website that doesn't end in '.in'. Khara, the only domain I truly understand is the one between my chai cup and the verandah railing — that one never gives a 404 error.

Acha, this big medal tally business—I remember in 1982, our entire colony gathered around the one black-and-white TV at the chaiwala’s to watch P.T. Usha run. The set kept flickering, and we’d adjust the antenna with a wire hanger, cheering every time the picture held. Now everyone argues about gold counts and Olympic slots, but what matters is that someone’s daughter somewhere is still sprinting past her limits, khara, not just the number on a scoreboard.