A little less glamorous in its nature, Kabaddi was one of those few games where anyone could participate, in the absence of an established way of testing one’s skills. (The other such game must be kho kho).
Location: The Kabaddi ground beside Aniruddha house.
VIIIth standard students were busy passing buckets of water for the event across the barbed fencing. Participants warmed up, in their ‘unestablished’ ways. While one flexed his wrist, a hairy legged friend (and now an opponent) stretched his knees. Today’s match was Lohit versus Lachit and I was in the Lohit team.
An interesting aspect about Kabaddi and Kho Kho was that, these were the games, where there were no established ‘dominant Houses’ and these were the events where labeled underdogs (as far as games were concerned) could hope to win. Lachit house was one such, during my tenure.
The shrill hooting of the whistle was followed by ‘Kabaddi – Kabaddi’ or by the more expert ones ‘hututtu hututu’. I was enjoying jumping on anything that resembled like a group of men. Went out several times and came in again. The cycle followed for a while and the whitening black board, indistinctly displayed the scores. It could at best be described as neck-to-neck.
A sudden realization hit me as I stood on my side of the court…ALONE. The rest were standing outside the court, in a queue eager to re-enter. Had I been placed in that situation today, I would have definitely run away. But those days, House spirits mattered and more importantly the responsibility to honour one’s existence as an SSGian.
My House mates shouted, and so did our opponents’. I felt feverish, as the Lachitian team, standing inside the court, jeered at me. They chose Palash Baruah (33??) to come and stampede me. As I have mentioned, how nothing mattered in Kabaddi. Whether I was fast and nimble, or that I could jump higher and longer. Probably there was just one thing that mattered – the size of the individual. And he was larger than me by a huge margin.
Perhaps goats felt the same way, tied by a rope for the tiger to come and feed on it, so that the hunter could kill the tiger. I could see Palash cross the middle line, growling like a tiger ‘Kabaddi Kabaddi Kabaddi’ as I started to run around the small rectangular space. I could also see a hidden sneer, as his lips moved slightly uttering ‘kabaddi kabaddi kabaddi’. I so wished that he would suddenly sneeze and the ‘kabaddi kabaddi’ would stop and he would be thrown out. But miracles seldom happen, the way you wish it to be. But they do happen nonetheless, in some other ways.
The jeering of supporters became louder as he neared me, and then finally touched me, deep inside my territory. Without second thought, I jumped on him and grabbed his feet. I could feel myself dragged for a moment and then some violent jerks knocked me on my face, as a cloud of dust blinded my sight. Suddenly the movements settled down and I could hear the whistle blowing. Palash had been stopped, and a team mate of mine came inside in return. We eventually lost the match and for many, it was an uneventful match. But for me, it was a personal memory that reinforced the right to believe in oneself.
Location: The Kabaddi ground beside Aniruddha house.
VIIIth standard students were busy passing buckets of water for the event across the barbed fencing. Participants warmed up, in their ‘unestablished’ ways. While one flexed his wrist, a hairy legged friend (and now an opponent) stretched his knees. Today’s match was Lohit versus Lachit and I was in the Lohit team.
An interesting aspect about Kabaddi and Kho Kho was that, these were the games, where there were no established ‘dominant Houses’ and these were the events where labeled underdogs (as far as games were concerned) could hope to win. Lachit house was one such, during my tenure.
The shrill hooting of the whistle was followed by ‘Kabaddi – Kabaddi’ or by the more expert ones ‘hututtu hututu’. I was enjoying jumping on anything that resembled like a group of men. Went out several times and came in again. The cycle followed for a while and the whitening black board, indistinctly displayed the scores. It could at best be described as neck-to-neck.
A sudden realization hit me as I stood on my side of the court…ALONE. The rest were standing outside the court, in a queue eager to re-enter. Had I been placed in that situation today, I would have definitely run away. But those days, House spirits mattered and more importantly the responsibility to honour one’s existence as an SSGian.
My House mates shouted, and so did our opponents’. I felt feverish, as the Lachitian team, standing inside the court, jeered at me. They chose Palash Baruah (33??) to come and stampede me. As I have mentioned, how nothing mattered in Kabaddi. Whether I was fast and nimble, or that I could jump higher and longer. Probably there was just one thing that mattered – the size of the individual. And he was larger than me by a huge margin.
Perhaps goats felt the same way, tied by a rope for the tiger to come and feed on it, so that the hunter could kill the tiger. I could see Palash cross the middle line, growling like a tiger ‘Kabaddi Kabaddi Kabaddi’ as I started to run around the small rectangular space. I could also see a hidden sneer, as his lips moved slightly uttering ‘kabaddi kabaddi kabaddi’. I so wished that he would suddenly sneeze and the ‘kabaddi kabaddi’ would stop and he would be thrown out. But miracles seldom happen, the way you wish it to be. But they do happen nonetheless, in some other ways.
The jeering of supporters became louder as he neared me, and then finally touched me, deep inside my territory. Without second thought, I jumped on him and grabbed his feet. I could feel myself dragged for a moment and then some violent jerks knocked me on my face, as a cloud of dust blinded my sight. Suddenly the movements settled down and I could hear the whistle blowing. Palash had been stopped, and a team mate of mine came inside in return. We eventually lost the match and for many, it was an uneventful match. But for me, it was a personal memory that reinforced the right to believe in oneself.