Caught the SA20 highlights on a grainy stream last night, the volume down low so I wouldn’t wake the little one. These leagues, always humming from some corner of the world, remind me of my old cassette collection—different labels, same worn-out thrill. But this constant cricket, ah, it makes me wonder who’s minding the *bhoral* while we’re all watching the fireworks.

Last month I sat under the bhoral in the corner of the station tea stall, watching the Indian women’s team lose to Nepal by four points on a scratched screen — the owner kept apologizing for the signal, but those girls played with more grit than any glit