To Sir with love...Part II

I took in the room. It was spartan but filled with army memorabilia. Later I would learn stories of how a bad shoulder would render Patil sir out of army service. How he preferred a teacher's job to a desk job in army in some ramshackle office in a non descript army building.

"How's your nose? Does it still hurt?" He asked
I told him it didn't. Then I told him how much I loved playing. We discussed various teams, and I told him I rooted for Italy. How cool Paolo Maldini was and how I felt frustrated at being left out.

He told me that he wasn’t going to pick me anyway in the team as he wanted a minimum of 4 km from all his players. He told me that my body was too rigid and not fluid and that I was uncoordinated.

“Then why did you invite me to the trials?”

“Because I wanted you to experience the situation. Did you not like it? What if you had managed to stop those kicks. The very guys who had hooted you would have slapped your back.”

“There’s a saying that the higher you fly the harder you fall. But I’d like to believe that it’s the very depth of our experiences that separates a man from the imposter he masquerades as, or believes himself to be. You are in a tough situation as I understand. It can make you or break you. And the funny part is, it is totally up to you.”

I didn’t understand it at that point. He asked me about my family and other general chit chat till our PT period ended.

Few days later I heard our class teacher Mr Panchram tell a story about Patil sir. Lt. Patil as he was known then apparently carried a severely injured friend of his thru 30 KMs of jungle terrain somewhere in NE

..with a bullet in his shoulder.

I was walking home that day and imagining how hard and painful it would have been. It was difficult to imagine such grit and bloody mindedness from the almost laid back demeanor people had come to associate with Patil sir. My heart welled with his respect. It is then I recalled his statement. About being under cosh and how it and how it made or broke people.

I wanted to be in the team. It was a crazy thought. But I just wanted it so bad.

That night I remember dreaming about being in army. I dreamed about playing football and scoring goals.

Over the next few years I had multiple opportunities to see the injury whenever I saw him sleeve less Tee's. By the time he found a rescue party the bullet was so deep and fragmented the doctors decided not to remove it at all. It effectively ended his army career. And yes they did give him some medal for that.

I started running and doing basic exercises. It was painful. My lungs were not accustomed to it. Initially my condition worsened. I was surprised by the amount of phlegm I coughed out. Sometimes my father had to come and take me back home as I sat wheezing on the ground unable to move. But I improved. I reached a point where I could do 6 KMs around the school ground.

It took me 1 year. Most people if they are at it fully would be able to make this within couple of months.

I started keeping goal during the PT breaks. It was the least preferred job among boys. But I resolved to be good at it and I soiled my shirts.

A good goalkeeper as I learnt 1) needed to know where the right and left posts where 2) Place his defenders during the free kicks and minimize angles 3) should have good reflexes.

“Play the ball and you’ll play the player”, Patil sir would say.

In an year I was competing with Anustup for the keeper’s post. For parity Patil sir lined up us against same players. It boiled down to the decider. Anustup failed to judge Sangharsh’s kick, it went the other way.

There were 2-3 players in our team who were adept at playing with both feet. Sango was the best. He would run in and would simply aim and blast into either the left or right bracket, or wrong foot one into the other direction. It was difficult to judge as he had a similar run up for both and kind of stopped before his shot, before the right or left foot came into action. His right foot shots were like bullets so you had to commit to a jump to have a chance to stop it, but if it was his left this very jump could be your undoing.

I took my mark. I remembered the last time and instead of fear I managed a chuckle. I saw Sango mark his run up and charge into his shot. I watched his foot ankle downwards and I still remember seeing the extra half a step of his right foot going slightly back while he twitched his body to the right. I knew it was going to be his left.

I stood my ground and moved towards my right and when the shot came and punched it away. I was IN! And I could see Patil sir’s approving smile.

“Nice guess harami” Sango mouthed. I just smiled. Over the next year I stopped many of his goals and earned his respect. Some secrets are best kept hidden. I never saw anyone else stop his kicks. He was that good.

We cruised to the semis and defeated KV VSN in Bhopal region. The finals were with a team equally good (K V Kamptee).

It went down to the wire. And we won in the Penalty shootouts and I saved more than the moron in the opposite team. I was carried around the ground on shoulders. I cried like a girl in the changing room. Many of those involved didn’t remember, but were the ones who hooted me once.

I remember the day. It was raining and I jumped on every puddle I could find on the way back home. My mom couldn’t understand the fuss. Sango, Anil, Sumit qualified for the Nationals from the regional pool team.

Later on I would play center defense and right wing in my college days. And I would graduate as the best outgoing student for my participation in sports as well as acads. Funny who would have thought!

2010

I met Patil sir when I visited the school. He is nowadays in Regional K V office and is responsible for inspections and overall development of KV’s in the region. Not many sports teachers make this big. He mentioned the irony of inspecting the very school he once taught in. He lamented the lack of sports in kids nowadays and how no of computers exceeded the sports equipment in the school inventory.

He probably never knew the impact he’s had on me. And though he recalled seeing me he could not remember my name. He was taken aback when I asked him about his shoulder. “Still creaking along”, he replied with his smile.

The last I saw of him was whistling and nonchalantly walking down the corridor…

To sir with Love... Part I

"Steady boy...Focus..and keep your eyes on the ball..steady now"

I was not steady and definitely not focused. I felt I would faint and I was nervous like hell. But Patil sir's deep baritone kept reverberating in my ears. It had a soothing effect, but not enough for that day. I could hear some boys chuckling in distance watching the spectacle. I tried to shut them out.

I missed the shot and I dived the wrong way. The boys chuckled louder.

Patil sir blew his whistle. "Lets go again. Sangharsh you are next". He was whispering to me standing behind the goal post. Sangharsh had the biggest hairy legs in the whole division and I could see him smiling. It was not kind. Years later he would be one of my best friends. But he was not one now.

"Bend your knees and breath easy..Watch his foot from ankle downwards.."

I watched his right foot, but he wrong footed me. He hit a scorcher from his left and I could not even spot the ball. Now I knew the reason for his smile. I did see the ball when it was about a foot away from my right cheek and it was too late. My head spun from the impact and I stumbled into the goal and watched in agonising slow motion as the ball slowly trickled past into the post. Someone shouted "Double goal" and I could hear shrieks of laughter. Sangharsh was doubled over and laughing his arse off.

Blood spurted from my nose and I had an attack there and then. Anand, my childhood chum managed to get my inhaler out in time and a few minutes later I could at least breath.
It was humiliating. It was painful. It was me. Later on I would watch in silence as Nikhil (the class pimp) would describe in every detail the trials to the girls in class while they giggled at my expense, conveniently forgetting to mention that he too could not make it into the team. I would looooong for the school to get over.

It was routine. I had Bronchitis when I was a kid. I could not run 10 yards without being out of breath. As a boy I longed for sports. I was ok with acads and other extracurriculars and I was competitive but I was really useless when it came to stamina and endurance. I had special concessions on PT sessions and long assembly days. I could sit and watch...

As a kid I would run out of breath in fisticuffs and boys used to harass me growing up. But that was before I gave Mohan a scar which ran across his face in 5th standard. I don't remember it as everything happened in a rush of blood, a tangle of hands, hair and legs and plenty of pent up frustration, but Anand later told me I broke a bench in the process.

Nobody bullied me ever since. I could not sleep for days remembering Mohan's bloody face after the 'deed' had been done but I was grateful to be left alone. The boys picked on somebody else after that. Nowadays Mohan has reputation of being a bully around J'nagar and I conveniently avoid bumping into him lest he remembers any of our childhood stories...

Generally bronchitis worsens during evening and night time and I remember staying up whole nights wanting like hell, but unable to sleep. I would go under blankets, assure my father that I will be ok, gave it 15 minutes and then silently creep out, switch on the night lamp and find something to read. My father else would stay up with me giving me company till I could sleep and I didn't want him to do that.

People around me still wonder why I go to sleep early. Maybe they should experience the joys of staying up whole night and fighting for breath every fighting minute of your life.

I am sure they will sleep well too and enjoy it while they do so.

Ever noticed your breathing? Breath deeply... fill your lungs. Do it please. Even now while I type I can feel the silent satisfaction of my lungs filling with air without any effort. For me its divine. Bronchitis is awful and it will teach you a lot about life. You cant breath in, you cant let air out. You get tired by the mere effort required to push air into your clogged lungs. Once you manage to get air in you need to push it out. More than the physical effort it is the mental agony that you cant stand. And then start again. Sometimes you just want to let go and not breath any more and pray to god for the trauma to be over. But you just can't stop breathing can you?
Your chest pains from the effort. Your back aches from the contractions and your body struggles from the lack of sleep. You get depressed thinking about the night ahead. I always used to tell myself 'One more'. It was simple way of not worrying about the night ahead. "Breath in..Breath out..Focus..One more". Focus on the next breath and the dark night would pass.

You watch the clock, you wait for the morning to come soon. You watch the minutes, you watch the seconds tick by. You know that it gets over by morning. Deliverance by the Sun as I used to think about it then. You can finally sleep.

And that's why I love mornings...

Bronchitis taught me a lot. It taught me to be patient, how to react when under cosh. It made me a hard nut. I can deal with any bully in workplace or elsewhere. Because I have had to deal with the mother of them all. Most of it all it all it gave me the gift of reading. I read and read and then read some more. I grew smarter...

I always used to watch sports though. I would sit in our school stadium and see the practice for hours. I loved the noise, shrieks, sledges, swearing and laughter. Then I would go home accompanying Anand who was in the team.

This was before Patil sir came to our school. He used to see me and knew my concessions at school. One day he ambled over to where I used to sit and asked me if I would like to join them. They were trialing for a goalkeeper. I was so taken aback that I could not even speak.

Patil sir was different from all the other sports teachers. He was mild and genteel. He would laugh and chat a lot with the kids and not hard nosed as most sports teachers are. But he knew where to draw a line. One hard stare and the worst of the bullies in our school would fall in line. He always carried a cane. But in 5 years of my schooling after he joined, I never saw him use it. You could find him walking without a care and usually whistling. And boy he was a whistling genius or what! He could whistle most of the songs and after practice the boys would harangue him for a demo. He would let them get desperate and then acquiesce.

I failed the trials. But still I used to accompany Anand for practice. Boys made fun of me and I sometimes smiled sheepishly and sometimes cracked self-deprecating jokes. Soon they ignored me.

But two days later Patil sir called me into his room for a chat. I don't remember most of my school mates and other details but I do remember every word he spoke that day...
It led to one of those moments I keep having now and then.

To be continued..

J'Nagar and 'No Girls Club'

J'nagar. The place I dig more than anything in this world....

It's a small place, cut off from rest of the world with chain link fences and towers with armed guards. Not an ideal place to grow up if you want to make it 'BIG'. People there don't worry about JEE's, GATE or GMATs. Neither did I, growing up. But I ain't doing that badly, am I?

Nestled between hills and 2 small rivers with a forest reserve covering the open west end off and with magnificently sluggish way of life, it is one place where I want to be when I want to run away from the world...
When I was kid me and my buddies would occasionally cut school and trek in the hills nearby. There were small riverside beaches, forests and hideouts. A day without a discovery was a day wasted. Like Pirates we roamed our universe and made our conquests...

The earliest club we formed was 'No girls Club' with me and Andy as chairmen and the membership was limited to 6. Mainly because our headquarters (A enclave in the bushes behind the school) had space only for 6 kids. We met regularly, spoke in hushed tones in school about it, discussed black magic and all the haunted places in our vicinity, debated on how rockets flew, ghosts, worshiped Sachin and made plans to kill teachers. Membership was strictly by invitation and limited to boys. Females weren't allowed 3 reasons. They sucked, they sucked big time and they sucked hugely. Basically anybody eager to please the teachers and not having a rebel streak wasn't allowed.

Me and Andy have changed our position on women since then... considerably.

Andy my friend if you are reading this, I miss our adventures man!

It has a decent Library (which my father managed for free for 10 years!) where I spent a majority of my childhood. Before long I was into Shaw, Tolstoy and Shakespeare. And marveling at prose and poetry. We had three clubs (All free!) played footer in school, cricket in evening and badminton in night post dinner to aid digestion. I remember walks back home with my buddies and getting no dinner for being late.

By the way never noticed the 40 C heat...

We hit our beds by 10 pm and never watched TV, roamed the jungles till the chain-link fences and wondered about what lay beyond. Nowadays kids get a medal pinned if they do this and wear funny uniforms (boy scouts) while doing so.

I still don't watch TV, sitcoms or 'chat'. Neither do the other members of 'No Girls' club. I so fucking hate typing fake smiley's and weirdo chat expressions. How can you bloody replace a smiling face and the sound of laughter with a smiley? I have no clue.

Internet is the worst thing that's happened to mankind... Or maybe I am just outdated.

Andy, Sango, Ajju, Amol, Sado and Suzy (I hate that name..) would concur. (better do or I will publish the dirt I have on you guys...)

What qualifies you to the best club in the world?

You need to be a pirate first at heart. Pirates don't email or chat. They sail the seven seas, fight the sea serpents, march thru the gates of Hera, loot the treasures on offer, ogle at the mermaids and go nuts on the first sight of adventure. Rains, thunders, mountainous swells don't deter them. Aye, they dive straight into it and make a meal of it.

They have no homes and prefer the open sky and stars overhead when they sleep. Oh for the smell of salty breeze, and the spray of surf and the feel of sand! Bull rushes, fearlessness, impulsiveness, curiousness are the signs. They dont mind getting beaten, but getting beat up? No sir! They ride fast, think fast and live fast. They don't avoid Kraken, they bloody ride it.

Ups and downs, comradeship, Danger, adventure, thrills, spills, we dare the Poseidon and flip the bird to Zeus. They can kill us, but they can't take us. Take whatever you can, Leave nothing behind!

I am going to take my pilgrimage today. Visit our old enclave and catch up with the members..

So many friends wonder why I don't ever call or mail when I am at home. How can I be such a incommunicado?
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You need to be a Pirate first. Membership open...

The abominable bong man: Kokata Kollections II

Its actually taking me time to get adjusted. The very idea of people driving with caution, not squeezing their vehicles into every possible nook and cranny and not screaming abuses at every possible moment is difficult. Gurgaon has its own charms…
I arrive at the guest house and I am attacked by an onslaught of Bengali from everywhere. As I am beginning to discover it is not very hard and you can guess the basics if the person on other end goes slow with it. I share my room with somebody who introduced himself as “myself Mr Apoorba Das”. That at least cleared any lingering doubts about his gender if any in the minds of those who had the pleasure of being introduced by him. He gets tremendously excited on hearing I am mallu. He’s been apparently to Cochin and thereabouts and shares his love for mallu sea food and cuisine.
“Man what great fish man you have (As if we had something to do with it..). Amazing, and what tasty food.”
“I tell you nearly as good a Bongla cooking (I am supposed to be grateful to him for raising us minions mallus to the same level) and the Prawn curry is amazing man”
Thanks to the good show put forward by Mallu fishes I have the esteemed friendship of Mr. Apoorba. He assures me that h will show me around Salt Lake.
I like the colony, it reminds me of Prabhat or Boat club road in Pune and is systematically planned. Rows of rowhouses and is really a quiet neighborhood. I am told it’s one of the posh areas in Cal. The whole of Salt lake is shaped like a regular octagon (some polygon at least) with regular public transport and neat tidy streets. Bang in the middle of all this is a giant Central Park which according to a hyperventilating Apoorba is apparently a lover’s spot.
Apoorba suggests going over and taking in some ‘sights’. I wriggle out of it. The idea of roaming around with a rotund ogling Panda is something I plan to avoid. He told me that Kolkata is the cheapest Metro for any foodie, and quoted plain and buttered chapatti prices for 6-7 major cities as comparison to seal the deal. One thing you have to give him is that he is a walking encyclopedia of Restaurant prices and modestly admits that he has traveled quite a bit.
He is a new joinee and plans to move on to a flat he has located. Having nothing better to do I help him shift his stuff while getting a thorough knowledge about the comparative auto rates across the many cities Apoorba had a chance set his foot in. This guy is special.
He extends a open invite to join him in his flat if I decide to make Kolkata permanent base and tells me that he normally doesn’t extend that kind of courtesy to everybody.
He then recounts how he has genocide plans for Sindhis if he has his way. “Sindi aur Saanp mile raste mein to pehle Sindhi ko maro”. Some guy apparently wiped 100 bucks from him. Doing this to someone who remembers chapatti prices throughout the length and breadth of this country is definitely not wise.
But Mallus are honest and hardworking in his experience and almost as good as inscrutable bongs and the special variety ones found in Asansol area. I avoid telling him that the miniature Sandalwood Ganesha worth a bargain price of 2000 bucks that he brought in Trivandrum is worth couple 100 bucks really. But he seems enamored with mallus (next only to Kannadigas in his preference list). Mallu fishes are really something. Maybe I should try them too…
Despite all his vices, that guy is really nice. Tomorrow he will move on completely… I finally will be able to sink my teeth into the novels I lugged into Kolkata I guess….

Here I go again...: (Kolkata Kollections I)

Here I go again...

This time literally. I am on the move again. This time Calcutta adds itself to a list of Cities where I have had the privilege of spending time with.

By now I am convinced totally that the notion of being a vagabond actually excites me. Like a restless Bedouin who itches to kick his Camel's badass butt at the first ray of the Sun. Itching to get a move on, see the sand dunes on the other end of Sahara… It may be pointless but it is me.

The only exception this time being that I am totally on my own. No friends, no relatives (Thank God!), no familiar Tree or Rock. I have some college friends based in Cal but they are somewhere else

Trying to earn their living. Or as in modern times, trying to fend off their credit card bills. The idea is funny. Here is a mallu, based out of Nagpur educated in Pune and Kanpur so that he can earn a living in Del moves to Kolkata for a continuance of it. While the couple of Bong friends I mentioned earlier are stationed in Cochin! The world is truly flat at least in this neck of woods.

This actually open up the opportunity of touring NW which is something I always wanted to do because A) I have always wanted it B) its there (To quote Mallory). And to counter the solitude of the looming months in front of me I plan to spend time blogging my experiences here. Now you see the point in the title.

I am in my flight. I actually like Jet lite (Sorry Mr. Mallya) because there is this concept of free gifts and then buying food and beverage menu that will actually not flatten your pockets.

The attendants and the hostesses have just finished their cute little safety dance and we are off...

I actually look towards the take off. For me it's a culmination of an engineering miracle. It's a testimony to the stubbornness of Mother Nature's most persistent creation to date (that is man, after females of course…). Breaking the shackles, trespassing into a domain where Nature never intended us to go. From Kitty Hawk to Airbus 320, some trip indeed! The Wheels leave the ground the engineering voyeur in me delights, and I become conscious of the fact that I am grinning like an idiot.

As the plane banks steeply and makes a turn I can see recognize only the Qutub Minar down below. Like a giant Phallus it stands out in the scenery below. Beautiful!

I have the entire three aisle seat to me and I have finished ordering my favorite Nachos and Salsa. The plane slowly comes to life. Few babies announce their presence, somewhere back a lively debate on whether Ganguly retired too early is going on. Funny it ‘sounds’ like a debate but they all seem to be agreeing with each other. I guess I will have more of it in Cal.

But there is something interesting going on across my seat. A gentleman (definitely a Bong with a trademark Jhola) has started an elaborate eating ceremony. He has 2 tomatoes, 4 potatoes and some cucumber pieces arranged in a stone henge formation on his tray. He now picks up a cloth and starts wiping them with mathematical precision.

Somewhere in front a kid has absolutely massacred a sandwich and is judiciously using the fork to dispatch the remnants of sandwich to all parts of the plane. Bravo! He’s scored a hit. He manages to hit a distinguished gentleman in suit. The gentleman gamely picks up piece off his suit and even manages to offer a smile. The baby encouraged by the smile proceeds to send further missiles the gentleman’s way.

Meanwhile Mr. Bong-across-the-seat has finished wiping his meal. The tomatoes glint like his moon head and he is obviously happy with his work. Then he swallows a full Tomato raw in one go and chews contently. Next the Potatoes line up for their judgment day. Reminds me of a tale where I read some Spanish sailors being decorated, fed and pampered before some Sumerians ate them.

The gentleman in suit has an absolute murderous look on his face. A piece of mutilated tomato lands on the bridge of his nose. And finally Mommy calls an end to the game with a resounding Thwack strategically placed to the Kid’s rear.

Glug glug glug… Our Mr. Moonshine is now proceeding chugging down water after the ritual feast to Tomatoes and potatoes and follows up with a contented burp that resonates for a while. A few babies get frightened. You may accuse Indians for their many vices but no sir, subtlety is not one of them.

I finish my Nachos and Salsa and resist the temptation of licking the remnants of the wrapper. Damn thing’s delicious! And it takes all my will power to avoid ordering another packet.

The plane is hovering over Kolkata it’s time to shut my laptop. Rest of the tale in next installment….