Well... how long has it been?
No, I've not shifted to Alaska, adopted a pair of huskies and been cultivating medicinal varieties of moss (Yet). It's just that over hours and hours of painstakingly spent time over the internet procrastinating in office, I've realized that I'm not the writer that the internet needs and I'm certainly not the one that it deserves either.
So, I've stepped back to happily enjoy the fruits of labor of some fantastic folks who actually write/draw/create stuff that make sense, or make me crack up (more of the latter actually).
So. A website which is pretty much at the top of the list of my browsing history which the happy IT guy at work is accumulating to complain to management and bump me off work with, someday is this
www.zenpencils.com
The creator Gavin Aung Than, a free lance cartoonist based in Australia picks some of the finest quotes/experiences from some tremendous personalities and great sources across history and modern times and distills them into a few panels of gorgeous and moving visual inspiration. Pure Gold.
In my opinion, singularly; the most motivating block of bytes on the internet.
A harbinger of change for many many of his readers who've been inspired to follow their own drummers and go take up vocations close to their heart. My change if you must ask has been restricted to changing the wallpapers on my desktop with one of Gavins comics or the other.
Read em folks. Read em all. (I expect an astonishing increase of readership at Gavins site by 1 after I publish this post. Yes, I've mailed the link to my father as well).
So I stumbled upon this comic of his today morning again.
zenpencils.com/comic/50-neil-gaiman-make-good-art/
Must read. So well, had to had to, at least as a tribute to Neil Gaiman and Gavin; contribute something at all. So dusted off a short story I'd written a while ago, which I think is relevant to current news. Inspired from a feverish bout of Indian myth fiction reading. Piece of junk, but what can I do? Pretty much the only art that I can make.
Intro
'The last raid' is a
first person account of a kabaddi player in ancient India.
Set on the day of his last kabaddi match, it narrates his thoughts on his rise, his decline and his retirement ending with what is his final raid.
Yep. Familiar man. Unfamiliar sport. Oft heard story. Not too oft treatment.
No, I've not shifted to Alaska, adopted a pair of huskies and been cultivating medicinal varieties of moss (Yet). It's just that over hours and hours of painstakingly spent time over the internet procrastinating in office, I've realized that I'm not the writer that the internet needs and I'm certainly not the one that it deserves either.
So, I've stepped back to happily enjoy the fruits of labor of some fantastic folks who actually write/draw/create stuff that make sense, or make me crack up (more of the latter actually).
So. A website which is pretty much at the top of the list of my browsing history which the happy IT guy at work is accumulating to complain to management and bump me off work with, someday is this
www.zenpencils.com
The creator Gavin Aung Than, a free lance cartoonist based in Australia picks some of the finest quotes/experiences from some tremendous personalities and great sources across history and modern times and distills them into a few panels of gorgeous and moving visual inspiration. Pure Gold.
In my opinion, singularly; the most motivating block of bytes on the internet.
A harbinger of change for many many of his readers who've been inspired to follow their own drummers and go take up vocations close to their heart. My change if you must ask has been restricted to changing the wallpapers on my desktop with one of Gavins comics or the other.
Read em folks. Read em all. (I expect an astonishing increase of readership at Gavins site by 1 after I publish this post. Yes, I've mailed the link to my father as well).
So I stumbled upon this comic of his today morning again.
zenpencils.com/comic/50-neil-gaiman-make-good-art/
Must read. So well, had to had to, at least as a tribute to Neil Gaiman and Gavin; contribute something at all. So dusted off a short story I'd written a while ago, which I think is relevant to current news. Inspired from a feverish bout of Indian myth fiction reading. Piece of junk, but what can I do? Pretty much the only art that I can make.
Intro
Set on the day of his last kabaddi match, it narrates his thoughts on his rise, his decline and his retirement ending with what is his final raid.
Yep. Familiar man. Unfamiliar sport. Oft heard story. Not too oft treatment.
The Last Raid
Great. Virabhadra and Gautameshwar had to do this today of
all days. 2 failed raids in our first 2 tries against our traditional foe and
pesky neighboring kingdom Pakinapur. Their captain and our chief tormentor
Mallik-arjun is grinning from ear to ear and cracking jokes about my age as I get
ready to step in (PS: as if him and his team are spring chickens. Liars. The lot. Someday I'll expose their janampatris to the world) Anyways, the day my
preceding duo has chosen to start off so spectacularly badly on, is my last day
in the game. Me, Tendulyaman, Bharat varsha’s and Vishva Kabaddis most
illustrious son am hanging up my langot today.
As I take a deep breath and step out from my ring of
teammates, I can hear the roar ascend in a never ending crescendo. In all my years, I've never seen Kurukshetra maidan so full, talk is of people
coming in from as far south as Cholapuram for a chance to witness me in action
for one last time.
Last time. My last game. Just before I cross over into the
other half, I find myself strolling down memory lane to the start of my kabaddi
journey. My father, a Raj kavi in Mumba nagari hated his peace at work being
disturbed by the naughty child that I was and encouraged me to get out of our
house and loll around in the mud with my friends all day. Those friendly bouts
of Kabaddi in my back alleys soon became one sided affairs - I was just too
good a raider. Jealous of the ease with which I demolished him at the local
games, my elder brother took me to Guru Ramakant, an acclaimed kabaddi guru
when I was 11, hoping that a taste of the competitive level would bring my
arrogance to its knees. Still, the one sidedness continued – I was just too
good a raider. All sorts of records fell at the inter ashram, inter gurukul,
inter pradesh level once I’d stepped onto the maidans, Once me and Kamblesh (my
best friend and sadly now- failed theatre artist) scored the highest number of
combined raids ever recorded in the history of the game. Guruji, to encourage
competition even took to awarding special Modaks to anyone who could catch me
on any one of my raids in an entire day of practice. After I staked claim to 13
consecutive modaks, Gurujis halwai and Guruji both lost patience and gave up
the practice.
I stepped into the national team at a ripe young age of 16,
in a team which was right about scraping the bottom of the then global kabaddi
rankings. (Yes, we were almost like the Banglapurs of that generation). And yes, I made my debut against the same
annoying Pakinapur team, which back in those days had a fearsome set of
catchers who specialized in their toe crushing kicks on the raider,
immobilizing and immediately pouncing on him. Their fearsome catchers were
Akram and Younisaram, both were baying for blood on the particular day and
snickered on seeing a kid walk over but at the end of my raid, bloodied though
I was, I’d emerged victorious, prompting many a sentimental person in the crowd
to draw comparisons to Prince Abhimanyu and of how, not only had I countered
the Chakravyuh, but had also come out alive. Heady times, which only barely heralded an even headier rise.
No bharat varshi had come close to dominating Vishwa kabaddi like this before. Gavasyaman a very accomplished and respected predecessor was widely acknowledged to be truly special but even he, had never treated opponents with such disdain. Nor given nightmares to rival catchers and most of all he was never the symbol of the advent of a bright and bold Bharatvarsh on the global stage.
The referees whistle brings me back to the present, and I
snap out of my reverie. That heightened sense of things everytime I go out to
raid envelops my being again. The world around recedes into a silent vortex,
and I can only see the silhouettes of my opponents hunched together taunting me
to touch them. I pull up my langot, crouch and touch my crotch twice; a
signature move of mine which even though subject to a lot of mirth, was
something I religiously did as I believed it setup my inner chakras in line
with the universal force. Next, as I’ve always
done, like a hungry tiger training his sights on the slowest gazelle in a
field, my eyes immediately moved to locate the weakest of the Pakipur bunch.
There. Kamran was a young, confident but largely incompetent oaf. An oft repeated joke, especially in Vaidya
circles was that Kamran was so bad, he couldn’t even catch a cold if he wanted
to. Often Pakipur had to hide him in their lineup and avoid giving easy points
to opposition raiders. Anyways, smacking my lips in anticipation, I stormed
into the Paki half, and lunged with my left foot and caught Kamran off guard
immediately. The poor fellow didn’t know what hit him. Unfortunately for me
though, that sneaky Mallik-arjun had somehow sneaked in behind me and had me trapped. (Did I mention that he’d also kidnapped and secretly
wedded Princess Sania from the Nizam pradesh a few years ago. Calls himself
son-in-law of Bharatvarsha. Bloody thief.) Anyways. Out.
As I dragged myself back to my half reluctantly. I could not
but help let a sliver of negativity run through me. Much of the talk in the last
few years had been around my waning powers and how my place in the side was just a bow to past
accomplishments. Many even told me that our prime minister Maunmohan Brij had been
contemplating giving me a special award for having distracted public opinion
from his umpteen failings and misdemeanors in governance with all the time people
spent on debating my retirement.
But me, I still enjoyed the feel of the wet earth beneath my bare
feet, the thrill of a raid every time I stepped out, that moment when time
freezes around you as you just outwit a catcher and your team explodes
in triumph. I had accomplished everything – every record of note had my name next
to it (All but one to be precise - there was one far greater - Drona Varadman. Legend. More about him sometime else). And especially after our Vishva Kabbadi victory; I had nothing left to
prove; even to myself. I had quite a bit still left in the tank, the odd performances
now and then had managed to temporarily silence people like Ravi Shastradhan
(ex national kabaddi player, now annoyingly repetitive commentator – often
excessively drunk on Madira on gamedays)
But finally age had managed to catch up with me, the legs, not
that fluent, the hands, no longer as fluid. The mind, host only to success and
spirit in the past had recently started entertaining doubts and demons. I could
see very clearly that I was not the player I once was. Calling it a day would be difficult, but it had to
be now.
As the side morosely troops off after the first half trailing
Pakinapur 0-6, I stand by the maidan alone. So, this is what letting go feels
like. I’d been a part of the last goodbyes to Dravidar, Laxmankant, Kumblesh
(Great of the game. Not to be confused with Kamblesh) and wondered each time, how would it be to
turn my back on Kabaddi. This game, that’s given me such joy, the people,
who’ve given me such love. The gods, who’ve given me such luck.
Thank you all. I gave you all of myself as well. All of it. All the time.
Thank you all. I gave you all of myself as well. All of it. All the time.
But I cannot fail in my last game. We’ve
closed the gap in the second half and are level with Pakinapur now thanks to
some inspired raiding by our captain Dhonidhan (Brilliant isn't he? All that milk he grew up on in Jhad-khand, I tell you). One minute left in the match, and time
for just one more raid. And, who better to do it. As I trot out, the crowd
rises in anticipation, and the din reaches stratospheric proportions. This is it.
Deep breath drawn in - Check
Signature crotch move - Check
Cross half in an intimidating attacking posture - Check
Identify incompetent oaf - Praise be to Indra. Tears of Joy. Kamran is still on the field. Check checkity check.
Lightning dance of the feet to move down the ground and catch opponent unawares - Perfectly executed. Check
Get back to own half and celebrate a glorious win and a glorious end - CHE.....Damn..
Mallik-Arjun.. may the gods curse you.
No comments:
Post a Comment