The great shuttlers of India!

As India rejoices in and celebrates the first ever silver medal won by Sindhu, I will like to share my two encounters with two players of badminton when I was very young. As a teenager, I was an eager player of this game and did not play too badly. So I entered our college championship at Gwalior  at the very first opportunity at the age of sixteen.

As luck would have it, my first very round opponent was the reigning champion of our college. And he was a family friend too, about four years senior to me. Needless to say, he literally toyed with me even when he gracefully conceded a few points to me. It was an humbling experience for me but I enjoyed it. My opponent went on to win the college championship for the third time. On the day of prize distribution, at the fag end, I heard my name being announced for a special prize. I barely heard it. Then, a friend of mine nudged me to go to the stage to receive a small cup which I treasured for many years.

About four years forward, I went to Hyderabad to study at the Osmania university, the home town and cradle of now world famous shuttlers, Gopichand, Saina Nehwal and Sindhu when they were not even born. On a Sunday morning, I visited an indoor badminton court with my racquet to have a game with anyone present there. When I entered the hall, I noticed a young man a few years senior to me, just hitting and tossing shuttles. So I casually said hello to him and asked if he would like to play a game with me. He looked at me, smiled and said, OK, let us play, let us just knock around without playing a real game. I was a bit surprised at his offer but soon found out why he said what he did!

We started playing and within a minute, I realized that I was totally out of my depth as well as my breath. He was just too good and I could hardly match him stroke for stroke even when he was giving me very easy returns and never smashed even once. And he was very nice, encouraging me all the time with good  suggestions and advice. After about half an hour, I felt very tired. I decided to call it quits with his permission, giving him some reason. As I thanked him for his time and shook hands with him, I asked him who he was, what was his name!

'Nandu Natekar' he replied. To my utter surprise and shock, I realized that accidentally and by sheer chance, I had the rare experience of playing with the top badminton player of that time who had already won many titles. A living legend, he went on later to win at many national and international tournaments. I never met him in person again but would always treasure that encounter with the great man on that Sunday morning!

A rootless wonder!

Lately I have started taking longer morning walks since I discovered rather accidentally, that I looked big, rather fat, if that is the right word, in a full size mirror. This happened when I visited bathroom at a friend's place which had a full size mirror. Why, it beats me!

So I had to start early for a longer walk and one morning I  met another early walker. I extended my hand for a shake which he took rather stiffly. A serious looking guy, I learnt that he was from Chennai. He was a doctor, a Ph.D. In Indian philosophy. His wife too was a Ph.D. In some subject. Both served in a university and now retired. Obviously a very scholarly family! When I told him from where I came, exclaimed with a curt oh! Disappointed, he looked at me, I think, very pityingly. Was it my imagination, I am not sure! Nevertheless, to improve my image in his eyes and also to boost my own self esteem, I boasted that one of my aunts had actually married a proper South Indian in days much before when Chennai was Madras. And my sister once lived for a few years there, I added. To which he responded by saying, 'that does not mean you belong there, do you?'

During my army days, I passed through another metro in the east many times, Kolkata when it was Calcutta, many times just to change my flight for Gauhati further east. During such one stop, after walking many miles, I boarded a tram car. I found an empty seat and sat down. And then to relax my tired legs, I stretched them in the vacant front area. After a minute or so, I heard some people talking agitatedly in Bengali which I did not understand. Then, a well meaning copassenger softly whispered in my ears that they were talking about me. 'He thinks he is sitting in his drawing room! No culture' or words to that effect. I had understood the last part and quickly pulled in my legs! Bengal has been the birthplace of Tagore and Bose if I am not mistaken and I have high regard for the people from Bengal. But it never passed my mind to settle there ever!

I had a couple of postings in Punjab and enjoyed our time there very much. The culture of khana, peena aur dance, balle balle was very tempting except the last part; I just can not dance even to save my life! So there was no question of my feeling of belonging to this area and it's remarkable people. I could never visualise myself settling there after retirement!

I had a stint in another city, this time in Gujarat, a state which gave us many great leaders. My dear daughter in law is originally from this state.I was posted at Baroda now Vadodara. One evening, my wife and I went out for a bit of shopping. Among other things, we wanted to buy a few hand towels. We entered a shop which prominently displayed the item. We were talking with each other in Hindi. And then we asked the shop keeper the cost of a better quality hand towels. To which he rather curtly  answered,'you can not afford them'! To say that we were stunned will be an understatement. So much for the gujju people's much vaunted salesmanship. In retrospect, I thought I had upset the guy by talking in Hindi. Clearly, I did not 'belong'! Next time if I have to shop in Gujarat, I would prefer my gujju daughter in law to accompany me.

I retired from work while posted at Mumbai, erstwhile Bombay. Why we keep changed names of our cities is a riddle to me. Maybe to get back to our culture! The most well known city internationally, we really. enjoyed our stay there. Only sometimes, the constant harping of 'aamchi Mumbai' was jarring. And even though my dear wife comes from Maharashtra, it has not stopped some Marathi speaking people from treating me like an outsider. I did not simply belong! It is a different matter that I speak Marathi like a real native.

The bottom line of this story is that I do not have a sense of belonging to a particular place. I am like a rolling stone which has gathered no moss. I am a rootless wonder!

Yours for ever!

YOURS FOR EVER!

It had been a long day, and not very pleasant! He returned to his bachelor’s den, a one bed room apartment, after having dinner at a nearby eating place. Now was the time to unwind and relax! Absentmindedly, he picked up the book with the title 'Yours For Ever' and opened the cover. There were a few hand-written words on the opening page, ' do keep in touch’, a phone number and a date about two years old. He thought he better call the number, especially after what he had witnessed in the morning!

The call was answered by a woman with a 'hello'. He said he just happened to see this book which he described. Before he could proceed, he heard the woman exclaiming with obvious joy, 'Oh, it is you! First you stopped writing to me. And now you call me after such a long time, almost an eternity! I had given up on you! I missed you very much lately but you forgot all about me too fast!' He quickly hung up saying he will call her in the morning. She was disappointed but decided to wait for his call.

She had met him in a library first and then every Wednesday evening where they shared their reading habits. After that, it was a matter of a few meetings when they became close friends. In due course of time, friendship gave way to romance. And then as luck would have it, she had to move to another town in another state. They parted after promises to keep in touch. It was at that time when she presented him with this book, 'Yours For Ever'.

After abruptly terminating his conversation with her, he gave full thought to the whole situation. Next morning, he called the woman as he had promised who eagerly answered. ‘Tell me what you have been up to all these days and why you broke off with me? And why were you in such a hurry yesterday evening when you barely spoke? You, who used to say that we are made for each other!’

He wondered how to break the terrible news to this woman that he was not the man she thought she was talking to. He still had not got over the accident he had witnessed in the morning when this young man was hit by a speeding car. Paramedics and the cops had arrived immediately on the scene and took him to the hospital. He had picked up this book ‘Yours Forever’ which was left behind at the scene of the accident by sheer chance. He saw the phone number and instinctively called. And then after hearing her response, he cut off and rushed to the hospital and found out that the man did not survive and was no more. Now he wondered how to break this heart breaking news to her!

And then he spoke in the phone, ‘Tell me how much you missed me lately as you say?’ The woman replied, ‘Very much! You do not know how guilty I felt when I decided to get married six months back. You see, you stopped talking or writing to me for whatever reason. It was your fault! Then I met another wonderful man. It took some time for me to get over you and fall in a new relationship. Please do not mind and please forgive me. I never wanted to hurt you in any way!’

‘I am very sorry, my dear! As you rightly said, it was my fault. Please forgive me!’ he replied. ' Does not matter' she replied, 'where are you speaking from? Let us meet for old times sake. My husband is a very nice person. He will not mind'. 'Not possible, I am sorry! He replied.'you see, I am going abroad tomorrow early morning to join a company. Please do not mind!'

And he hung up abruptly!

In defence of alcohol!

The other evening, there was a party at my son's place which is a frequent happening. The main purpose of such parties is to meet friends and it goes without saying, eat and drink or rather drink and eat. The stress is on drinking with friends which creates the right atmosphere for a joyful evening. Dost aur daru is a great combination. And most of drinking buddies also bring in a bottle of wine or a crate of beer. So there is never a shortfall of this elixir of life. As Benjamin Franklin has famously said, 'beer is the proof that God loves us and wants people to be happy'. No dispute on that!

Friendships blossom when you drink with friends. At the same time, it helps to make them more interesting. Another famous person Ernest Hemmingway has confessed, 'I drink to make people interesting'! Conversation flows effortlessly, anecdotes are exchanged and life with all the usual problems, becomes rosy. Nothing like a chilled beer on a warm afternoon which will change ordinary mortals into thinkers and philosophers!

My son is lucky in having a friend circle who think likewise. And he is more lucky that his wife, our daughter in law does not mind and joins him for a glass of wine occasionally. And they are pretty moderate most of the time, let me assure you. Made for each other I guess, this has made their bond stronger. No marital tiffs because of an occasional binge in the company of friends. This brings me to my own indulgence in this activity once in a while, my tolerance level having gone down with age. But it was not always so!

Back in time, as a young subaltern in the army (do not mind if I always talk about my army  life simply because that WAS my life), I could stand a fair quantity of alcohol without getting drunk. And mind you, I have almost never been drunk, believe me! Once at a party in our mess at a small Cantonment, as normal, we were having drinks. On that evening, one Capt Andrews, was the senior most officer present. He was fond of drinks and we juniors were giving him company as best as we could. It was already dinner time but he kept drinking. When I hesitantly reminded him, he strangely announced, 'we will have dinner when Rajput is drunk'! And he ordered the barman to serve a drink to me. I dare not disobey a senior, so I took the drink. But that was not the end;he ordered another drink for me and of course one for himself. This was rather too much for me but I still did not feel drunk.

And then an idea struck me;I will feign that I was drunk. When Capt Andrews ordered one more drink for me, I took a sip and then just slumped down on a chair talking gibberish. This tactic worked and Capt Andrews looked happy. He asked everyone to proceed to the dining table for dinner. I continued with my pretense and slowly shuffled to join others for dinner. As we sat down on our chairs, we noticed that Capt Andrews would never make it;he was fully and totally drunk!

Okra versus me!

'By and large, during my lifetime, I have generally ignored vegetables except a very few. The ones I have left alone are usually full of seeds, really 'seedy' variety. You see, I have really nothing against vegetables as long as they are not forced on me by misguided hosts who in their zeal misunderstand that I am being formal or shy on the dinner table. Nothing like that, I can navigate my way to my favourite dishes, mostly nonvegetarian, which are so easy to spot, whether at home or at a buffet outside. Vegetables, I know are very good for health. At the same time, let me confide that I have no major health issues!

This post is about my battle with one particular vegetable called okra which is supposed to be a delicacy, at least by my son in law, Neeraj who simply loves it. As for me, it is too full of seeds for my liking and avoidable. Okra, also called ladies fingers or plain bhindi in Hindi, (rhyming so well) has been my nemesis. I had survived without it, rather thrived, till Neeraj arrived on the scene!

Soon after Neeraj and our daughter Savita got married in Pune, they spent a few days with us. The very second day, I went out to buy some groceries including vegetables and Neeraj accompanied me. At the vegetable shop, he suggested that we buy some okra. So I asked the vendor to pack half a pound of the stuff. Only half a pound, Neeraj remarked! And then, he told the guy to make it two pounds, that is one full kg!

Now we all know Neeraj who is such a fine guy! I have very high regard for him. But that morning when he quadrupled the amount of okra which I had to buy, well, it set me thinking about him! How can he like okra so much, I wondered but kept quiet like a good father in law in the famous Woodhousian tales. We returned home after a while with the vegetables and a bit of gloom in my heart. I was already visualising the dining table loaded with dishes of okra. My wife was thrilled to see that her favourite vegetable okra was there in the bag. And she easily guessed who was behind this coup. From then on, she and our son in law really bonded if that is the right word as I watched from the sidelines. For the next fifteen minutes, they discussed various dishes of okra and the best way to make them. As if there was nothing else to talk about in this whole wide world! I also realised that Neeraj was an ardent chef, loved to cook. So they became natural allies in the kitchen. I was truly sidelined and excluded from this divine world in the kitchen where all that mattered was okra! Soon, Savita and Neeraj left for their new home in US. But not before they had firmly planted this seed of okra in our kitchen!

As years went by, my interaction with okra became more frequent due to our regular visits to Neeraj and Savita. I have improved a lot in this respect;I no longer get depressed with this item. In fact, I make it a point to buy some whenever I go out to buy vegetables. And I actually eat it without making faces. My wife is happy and our son in law is happier. He has 'converted' me to his okra ways! 

But this has led to a peculiar situation. Now friends and family are under a misconception. They think I love bhindi, I mean okra. The other day, we were invited to lunch at a friend's house. He called me on the phone and insisted that we must join them. He exulted, 'you just can not afford to miss what my wife has specially cooked for you! Your most favourite vegetable'!

Please do not ask me to name it!

My identity!

After staying almost an year with my daughter Savita, my wife and I have now shifted to my son, Mahesh's house. We do this regularly. At both places, my morning routine is to go out for walks around the block or to the nearby parks. This morning, during this activity, I met a person, who lives on the same street as Mahesh. A youngish man in his fifties he warmly greeted me. Then he said, 'you are Mahesh's dad, aren't you'? Yes, I replied and asked him as to how he knew Mahesh. He explained that for sometime he worked in Mahesh's company. Now he works at a different place. But as both live on the same street, he sees me walking past his house in the mornings. 

This reminded me of an incident of many, many years back when Mahesh and Savita were small, school going and stayed with my parents for a few years. And my wife too, thanks to my postings in border areas while serving in the army. It was a small town called Nagod in MP, India, about twenty miles from the district place, Satna. As Nagod did not have a good school, we got Mahesh and Savita admitted into a better school near Satna. They both used to commute morning and evening between Nagod and Satna by a rickety bus service. The bus belonged to a local trader known to my parents. The driver and the conductor, usually same guys, took good care of both my children. Over a period, Mahesh and Savita became well known and let me say popular with the regular passengers of the bus. Safety wise, it was a very satisfactory arrangement!

That day, I had travelled a long distance by train, coming home on leave and arrived at Satna railway station. Nagod did not have a rail line and even today, it does not. So I had to catch a bus. As luck would have it, I got into the same bus to go to Nagod in which my children travelled on every school day. Only, this trip was not the one they took as I found out soon. The bus driver and the conductor recognised me and greeted me cheerfully. As the bus got filled with passengers, some passengers remarked, 'so you are Mahesh and Savita's father'! And then, a couple of passengers and the conductor started telling me how bold they both were, travelling every day to and fro between Nagod and Satna for attending a school so far away from home. They were the only kids doing it, I was told. I sensed that they had become almost role models for many parents and others in that small town!

Coming back to my identity now, most people in Nagod knew me as son of my doctor parents to start with. Then, I was looked up to as someone who had joined the army. That was probably a sort of first first for them and the town. My dear parents actually threw a party to celebrate that. But my best identity in terms of putting some one on a pedestal was because I was the father of Mahesh and Savita, believe me!

It has been a pretty long time since, a long journey. Mahesh and Savita are happily married and settled. Once again, in a different country and in new towns, whether on Demsterk ave or Bellingham way, I am being recognised as Mahesh's or Savita's father. Allow me to say, like all parents, my wife and I are very proud of them. The time has come now to pass the baton! I suppose, Mahesh and Jignasa, Neeraj and Savita for all their accomplishments, God bless them, are also identified as parents of our grandchildren, Gattu, Bachchu and Mallika. As for my wife and myself, our identity has become more glorious;we are their Nana and Nani!

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My horse riding days!

The year of 1966 is memorable to me for two main reasons;one that my younger sister got married that year, and the other, just a month prior to that, I fell off a horse I was riding while serving in an army unit in Himachal Pradesh. And that takes me to my first posting after I was commissioned as a second lieutenant, to an AT (animal transport) unit. And that too as it's officer commanding, OC for short. In retrospect, I think I can write a mini novel of this stint which lasted for about two years from 1964 to 1966. Maybe I will do it some day. For the present, let me stick to this tale of my falling off a horse!

I will like to give you some details about horses, real horses (not the ponies one rides at hill stations!) so that you can understand some parts of this story better. I hope you will find it interesting, more than my falling which comes later!!!

I was the only officer in my unit which had close to a hundred soldiers. And it had a complement of 4 horses or rides as they are called and 96 mules. Horses were for riding by officers and NCOs for command and control of mules column while on a march in hilly terrain. The mules were meant for carrying ammunition and stores on special saddlery. The 4 horses included 1 ride A and 3 rides B. Allow me to explain this! Height of horses is measured in 'hands'. A 'hand' means a clenched human hand which is taken as equal to 4 inches. Height of a horse is measured in 'hands' form the point of withers which is just where the neck starts, to the ground level. Ride A must be a minimum of 15 hands which comes to 60 inches or 5 feet. It is meant to be ridden by an officer. Ride B is meant for NCOs and soldiers and is below 15 hands in height. Class and rank distinction? Well, sort off!

I as an officer was expected to ride the only Ride A who was named Salim as per the records. A huge chestnut colored animal, i was just a few inches taller than him at the point of his withers. Even to climb on his back fitted with a saddle was a challenge. And he was also a bit moody or so I thought. Because, other riders in my unit, NCOs and soldiers, good riders mostly Jats from Haryana, could ride him easily. To my credit, gradually, I learned to handle and ride Salim reasonably well. We all always rode in proper gear wearing breeches and riding boots. In a month or so, I became pretty confident. The horses had to be ridden and exercised every morning and evening to keep them in fit condition. Normally, I did my riding on Salim in the mornings regularly.

One fine day, my NCOs suggested that we take all the four horses a little more distance on the surrounding hills. I agreed and we started on the horse backs at a slow canter. Soon we were on top of a small hill which had a flat top of about 200 yards in radius. On top of Salim, I was leading as expected and the other three riders following me. We started taking circles of the ground at a canter. But after a few rounds, Salim took me by complete surprise and increased his speed without any signal or command from me. I kept pulling the reins but he just did not bother to my commands. And soon, he started going to the edges of that piece of ground changing to a gallop. I became very scared and realized that I had lost control of Salim. I feared that at any moment, he may just go off the ground and fall with me in the deep cliffs. And then I did something a good rider would never do! I took out my both feet from the stirrups and jumped off Salim to save my life!

As I fell on the ground with a big thud, Salim miraculously stopped running. Other riders climbed off their horses and helped me to my feet. I felt immense pain in my right forearm. It was clear that I had broken a bone. We were a few miles away from our base and the worse was, I had to sit on my horse to be able to get back and report to the military hospital. There was no other option! My fellow riders helped me to climb on Salim with some difficulty. One of them held the reins and led Salim and the rest very slowly at a snail's pace and we reached our base in a couple of hours.

In a few weeks time, I was able to attend my sister's wedding, albeit with my right arm in a huge plaster!