The word ‘patchy’, as used in the passage, means

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Breakfast in a college hostel mess in Pune is eaten in near silence, and not because anyone is sleepy. Almost every student has a white earbud in one ear. On the phones are podcasts: a history series on Spotify, two comedians arguing about cricket, a doctor explaining sleep, a long interview with a chess player. Forty years ago the same tables might have shared one radio on a shelf. Now each student carries a private station.

I find it hard to complain about this. A good podcast does what radio did at its best. It talks to you like a person, not like a textbook. Students who would never open a book on the Mughals will listen to ninety minutes about them while ironing a shirt or waiting for a bus. The format suits days that are full of small gaps, and the gaps get filled with something better than reels.

But the same ease is the trouble. A podcast asks so little that it is easy to give it almost nothing. Last month I watched a student cook dal, answer three chats and “listen” to an episode on the Indian Ocean trade, all at once. An hour later he could not recall a single point from it. His attention had been patchy, and he had not noticed. Half-heard talk can feel like learning without being learning.

The boy at the next table has just laughed out loud at something in his ear. I would like to know what it was, and whether he will still remember it by lunch.