I drive a delivery scooter for a local restaurant. My world is a patchwork of addresses and the constant race against the clock. The money puts food on our table, but it doesn't stretch to fancy schools. My son, Rohan, is ten. He's clever with numbers and has a curiosity about the world that breaks my heart because I can't feed it. His teacher said he should be in a better school. "The boy has potential, Vikram," he told me. "But he needs the right environment." The right environment cost more than I made in three months.

One evening, I was on our rooftop, trying to fix our leaking water tank. Rohan was sitting nearby, doing his homework in the fading light. He was struggling with an English paragraph. I couldn't help him. I felt a familiar wave of helplessness. That's when my neighbor, Mr. Sharma, came up to smoke his evening cigarette.

He saw my face. "Another school fee problem?" he asked. I nodded. He showed me his phone. "My nephew in Bombay showed me this. It's called sky247 legal in india. He says it's all proper, licensed. You should see the cricket markets - it's like being a team selector."

I was immediately suspicious. "Gambling, Sharma? That's your solution?"

"It's not like that," he insisted. "It's skill. Knowledge. You know cricket better than anyone on this street. Use that knowledge."

That night, I couldn't sleep. The words "legal in india" echoed in my mind. They made it sound safe, authorized. I talked to my wife about it. We decided we would try - with strict rules. We'd use only money we could afford to lose, and only for cricket, which I understood deeply.

The first time I logged in, my hands were sweating. I started with small bets - who would win the toss, how many runs in the first powerplay. I used my knowledge of players, pitch conditions, and weather. For the first week, it was a careful dance. I turned 2,000 rupees into 3,000, then back to 2,500. I was learning.

Then came the big India vs Australia series. There was a market for "Man of the Series." The favorite was an Australian batsman, but I'd noticed something about one of our Indian bowlers - his form was improving dramatically with each match. The odds were 12 to 1. I discussed it with Mr. Sharma, who had become my unofficial advisor.

"We'll be called mad," he said, but his eyes were shining.

I put 3,000 rupees - half our savings at that point - on the Indian bowler.

The series was tense. Every match felt personal. When that bowler took five wickets in the final match and won Man of the Series, I didn't cheer. I cried. My 3,000 rupees became 36,000.

But here's what matters more than the money: that winning bet gave me the confidence to do something else. The next day, I walked into the English-medium school and paid Rohan's admission fee for the entire year.

Now, every afternoon, our rooftop has become a different kind of classroom. Rohan sits with his new English textbooks, sounding out words. Sometimes he teaches me what he's learned. "Papa, this word is 'opportunity'," he said yesterday, his voice proud.

I still drive my delivery scooter. The streets are still chaotic. But now when I pass that school, I don't feel a pang of guilt. I feel pride. I still visit the site occasionally, always sticking to cricket, always with small amounts. It's not about getting rich anymore - it's about reminding myself that sometimes, taking a calculated risk based on knowledge can open doors you never thought possible.

That verification that sky247 legal in india gave me the confidence to try, but it was my own understanding of cricket that made the difference. And now, the most beautiful sound in my world isn't the coins in my pocket - it's my son's voice on our rooftop, reading English words aloud to the setting sun, building a future neither of us could have imagined just a few months ago.