Thoughts in Words

A Bicycle was my mode of transport to college in the second half of 60s. A Hercules cycle that cost all of ₹ 300 then. The Rupee had not yet begun its plummeting like an aircraft shot by an air defence gun, yet. May be it had just been hit! Once when I was going parallel to a Standard Herald car (a car that I admired and liked) trying to see whether I can keep up with her, the well dressed owner-driver turned towards me and asked with a smile, “Do you know at what speed you are going? You are going at 40 Kilo Meters”. So what, I thought and smiled back in acknowledgement. However I stopped racing him after that day. I felt a bit embarrassed, though we used to meet often. Another vehicle and person that I admired and tried to keep up with was a Bullet and its well dressed rider. He used to go at a steady speed with dignity and the bike would emanate its royal steady beat. Man, what a beat at cruising speed! Those days Bullet had dignity. Now that any Tom, Dick or Harry is able to

Grandfather In my early years except for a year or so, I grew up under the care of my grandparents in Kerala. My grandfather was an expert in kalari payattu. To illustrate that it is not hearsay, let me tell you an incident. One day I located something wooden in the shape of a dagger in the attic. On asking my uncle as to what it was, he mischievously told me to ask grandfather. I took it to him. His face beamed, said it was what is known as ottakkol (I won’t bother to translate the Malayalam words pertaining to kalarippayattu ) and went on to demonstrate.   After a deep breath and along with vaithaari, he started the movements associated with its usage, slowly at first and working towards a crescendo. Grandmother heard this recitation, which was actually verbal instructions for kalari movements and hence totally out of place at the verandah of the house. So she came over to investigate. As she reached the verandah what she saw was her husband taking a somersault over the ottak

FIFA World Cup at Russia has just got over and France has earned the crown and Croatia the heart of the World. Iceland too won the hearts of all and it was admirable to know that some in that team pursue some profession or other while not playing for their nation. In that small country the players are not idolised or deified but are simply neighbourhood friends! In 1948 our National Team had played in the Summer Olympics of 1948 against, whom else but, France. Most of our players were without boots! And when someone asked why so, the answer our team supposed to have given merited note. It was “we play football not bootball”. So goes the story! A story of sour grapes, but a good excuse. Well, that may have been a bit unfuturistic, for boots are a must, not only to add power to the kick, but also to protect our feet from the kick of the opponents who are adorned with boots. Opponents, did I say? Well, make it marauders. You and I have played football in our days. If you are bo