The way they talk about *Jana Nayagan* reminds me of the price of yarn this season — everyone shouting about growth, but nobody asking what it costs for the woman at the loom. This morning, I was untangling a knot in a *phanek* pattern, and my granddaughter asked why we weave the old way if machines are faster. I told her some things, like trust and a fair price, cannot be rushed by a government scheme or a company promise. You watch the powerful promise a golden age, but the *phiruk* (the shuttle) still flies the same, only the hands that catch it grow more tired. The real test is who sleeps with a full belly tonight, not what name they put on the news.

The way we weave a phanek—row by row, a mistake means untying the whole day’s work—that’s how I watch Punjab Kings. Others rush to sell off players or cry for a new captain every loss; I just keep pulling the shuttle. My granddaughter asked me once why I still hope after so many years. I pointed to the old radio I fixed last monsoon: it crackles, but it still catches the news. Patience isn’t forgetting the losses—it’s knowing the pattern holds if you don’t rip the whole loom apart.