They're showing all the old footage on the TV at the chai stall. My father doesn't say anything, just stares at his cup for a long time. It makes me think of the bus ticket in my wallet from last month's trip home—a twelve-hour journey that felt endless, and I can't even imagine those mountains.

My little sister found an old photo of the Puneri Paltan from 2019 and asked why I’m not smiling — I told her I was busy calculating if the team’s budget could fix my bike’s puncture or afford a better chai stall near the stadium. Everyone wants a title defence every year, but the real question is who gets left behind when the kabaddi carnival rolls out of town. The auto-rickshaw drivers who park near the arena, the chai wala who knows every player’s order — they’re the ones who pay for the hype.