Being away from my native place for nearly three decades has had both its pros and cons. I used to keep telling wifey that I want to get back at the age of 40, indulge myself in agriculture, nature and free lance writing.
Yes, it did happen, but 8 years later. Better late than never, I tell myself. I have been an active reporter for so many years. My work had no timings, involved a lot of travel at least the better part of it. However in my last work place Someindia, I was expected to travel fast to my desk and oversee some ghastly re-writing bullshit
Anyways that is a thing in the past. The first couple of months were hard. I was tired, had too much to get done on the estate, house etc. Once, I settled in, I began writing once again, reading a lot (just news) etc. However the fun part was looking after the plantation and also starting a new one. This is something I shall write about some other day.
Before I was making headlines at every possible bar and pub, I would be spotted very often in a badminton court. I was very passionate about the game since a very young age. My average time spent on the court would be around 3 to 4 hours a day. There would be no shame in saying, I very pretty darn good at the sport and have won numerous tournaments at various levels.
Having played with some exceptional players, I had mastered the sport. I would also pride myself on several trick shots on the court, which would leave the opponent in a very compromising position (no pun intended).
In an agrarian set up, the day passes off easily. Write in the morning and spend time in the plantation during the rest of the day. The evenings are extremely challenging and I sure did not want to be making headlines in the bars again.
So, I thought why I don’t get back to badminton or shuttle cocks or suttle as it is known here. That was an exciting thought and I wasted no time in boasting with wifey about my prowess on the court. I told her about every shot I played, every sledge I had indulged in and every tournament I had won. Okay, then what is stopping me. Picked up a racket, bought badi shoes and the rest of the attire.
Around two hours before I could land in the court, I was telling wifey about what shot I would play. I tossed around a bit with her and it was quite okay. I did all my trick shots, smashed around a bit. I thought I had still had it. Just that I was not mindful of the fact that all this was happening on a coffee drying yard with no boundaries and more importantly without a net. Anyways, all this aside, I thought I was golden.
I was in court and it was a wild feeling. I was seeing the net and the lines after more than 3 decades. A sense of nostalgia set in. By the way, before leaving to the court, I had told wifey, I would let my opponent decide how many points he wanted before I could catch up in no time and smash the living daylights out of them.
Two hours later I was back home. Didn’t say a word until the better half asked. How did it go. With the most sheepish smile, I told her the guts on the racket are just a formality. What does that mean she asked. They smashed me 0-21, 2-21 and 3-21.
I missed, I ran out of breath, fell down, the racket flew from my mind. Basically it was slow death on the court and all I kept thinking when will this bloody ordeal end.
I gave up a few months and then decided to get back again. Currently taking it one at a time. I am able to get the 17th point and slowly but surely, I am improving. Keep in your prayers and pray for the lion to roar again.
Until next time.
Comments