Your first call, start to finish
You’re in. A page full of questions, 1,000 fresh Dots to your name, and that small first-minute hesitation everyone gets: where do I start?
Right here. Your first call is one lap around the whole of majjha — pick, read, choose, lock, wait. Nothing bites — it’s a play-money prediction market, so nothing can — and the lap ends with something you didn’t have this morning: a record. Let’s walk it.
Pick the question that pulls you
Scroll until one stops you. Not the one that looks easiest to guess — the one you already have a feeling about, where you catch yourself thinking no chance or obviously yes. That pull is the whole qualification — I can’t tell you which question it’ll be, and I wouldn’t want to.
Read the middle
Open it and a number is already waiting. Say it reads 63. That’s the middle — everyone’s calls pressed into one number, the room’s read of the question. Yes at 63, No at 37 — the two always add up to 100.
You don’t have to agree with it. Just notice the flicker when you first see it: that seems high, or huh, about right. That flicker is your read, arriving.
Choose your side — and your size
Two decisions now, both entirely yours. Which side, Yes or No. And how many Dots to put behind it — play-money, free, worth nothing but the score they keep; the amount is simply how sure you are.
One warm aside: majjha will not help you with either decision. No suggested side, no nudged amount, no “people like you leaned Yes.” Not unhelpfulness — this is the one spot where help would break the thing. The call has to be yours the whole way through, or the record it starts means nothing.
The Call Ticket: read it before it’s real
Side picked, Dots set — and before anything locks, a Call Ticket appears. This is the step people blow straight past, and it’s the one I’d slow down for.
The ticket is your whole call, laid out in advance: the question, your side, your Dots, the day the answer arrives, and — in plain Dots — exactly how it plays out, either way. None of it is final yet. It’s the rest of the lap, shown to you while changing your mind is still free. If your stomach disagrees with anything on it, this is the moment — flip the side, resize the Dots, back out entirely.
Lock it in
When the ticket reads like something you’d stand behind, lock it. That’s the entire ceremony — one press. Your Dots move behind your side, and what was a private opinion a minute ago is now a call, made out loud, with a settle date attached. The step-by-step of what just happened lives in the FAQ, but you already felt the important part.
Living with an open call
Now comes the stretch nobody warns you about, and it’s quietly the best one. The question is out in the world, and so are you. You’ll stop on a headline you’d have scrolled past last week. You’ll peek back at the middle to see if the room drifted toward you or away. There’s nothing left to do — the call is made — but you’re leaning in now, and the leaning is most of the fun.
Then one day the question settles, decided by the source the question names. Land it, and it’s on your record: you called it, in advance, out loud. Miss it and — tough read. Close one. Everyone on the board has a pile of those. Either way, something exists tonight that didn’t exist this morning.
A record of one
Your record, one call long. A record of one is barely a record at all. But every oracle 🔮 up at the top started with this exact moment: one lap, one entry, one person deciding what they actually thought and putting it down.
The second lap is quicker. By the fifth, you’ll stop calling it a lap — it’ll just be what you do when a question pulls at you.
The first one takes about two minutes. Go take the lap.