These days I play badminton.
It all started a couple of years ago at 'Nisargadhama', a property off Hosur Main Road. I was there with colleagues for a weekend of r & r. After a few doubles matches, a few of us convinced ourselves we were a smashing hit. Though in retrospect it appears utterly incredible if not insane (few things don't), the foursome, including yours truly, showed up at the hallowed indoor courts at The National Games Village, Koramangala, at 5.45 am four days a week for a year. Considering that all of us had busy workdays after the baddy sessions, and considering especially that three of us (not me) had to run up and down the stairs and corridors of various courts, all the while shouting 'My Lord!', this dedication to the sport was remarkable. When we weren't serving and smashing our way to glory, we definitely swished viciously, occasionally giving our partners a sound lashing, no doubt intended for the feathered projectile. Thankfully, the cuts never reached a thousand.
Anyway, those were fun days. They also helped reduce the prosperity of our paunches by a few inches.
People moved and our game came to an abrupt end. Sorry. I must clarify. People need to move a lot in badminton, so that's not why we stopped playing. People changed homes, moved to new ones away from Koramangala. And so it was match over.
For a year after that I survived on lots of pasta, dosas with butter and so on. In a perverse manifestation of Prof Sen's theory of capability failure, I became incapable of wearing all but one of my trousers. During the time when we were executing exquisite drop shots, I had to bore an extra hole in my belt every Monday morning. But now, with no forward lunges and backhand flicks, the buckle used to pop frequently under the strain. The turning point came when one such unhinged buckle caused mental agony to a five year old by clean knocking off her double scoop of ice cream from its cone.
So I decided enough was enough and scouted around for a place to play, reluctant to make the journey to NGV alone and play with unknowns. But in vain. So I headed back there, a good year and a half later, to throw my weight around. And what a weight it was! The legs didn't move, the eye didn't see, the forearm felt like it couldn't feel anything at all. After what I thought was a hectic first day, my doubles partner told me that if I came everyday, I would improve. Maybe he was thinking about the prospect of playing with me as his partner everyday and reassured himself thus. In any case, he has never offered to play with me since that day. I had made him run too much. But there are always those willing to suffer for others and I've found people to play with.
Helter-skelter we would run
And often
Into each other, oh what fun
Though I miss the earlier days
Now there's a singular solace
My trousers, they're back in place
(From 'Are you being served or smashed? And other poems'; Anon. 2009)
