Skip to main content

My "Non-Existent" Trophies!

In high school I never ever participated during the sports week until I was in the tenth standard. So why did I sign up in the tenth standard? I signed up because my best friend said we should at least have the story to tell; in hindsight a story that is probably more colourful than the actual experience. So we joined our team, signed up for the marching team of our respective teams and got ready to put up a BIG fight.  We soon found out we would be competing with the bigger boys. What does that mean? Our school had this practice of categorizing us based on our weight and height. Category A was the tallest and heaviest ones, and Category B were their younger brothers that they could push around in a game. Well, you guessed it, me and my friend Category B playing against Category A. 

As they say, "the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak" we found ourselves in high spirits but in want of loads of stamina. We also happened to be assigned to different teams so we competed against not only the other contenders but each other. It was in the "each other" part that we had more successes than with the "others." We tried our "legs" at jumping and gave our names for the high jump contest. We jumped three times in the qualifying round and each time the rope marking the bar was wrapped around us at the end of each jump. So we moved on to "shot-put" which was no better. With each throw the shop put ball was nearer to the line where we were standing. The 100 metre dash was the "shortest" dash we ever made and yet left far behind proving that our "shortest" was still way longer than those of others. Off we went to play badminton and never knew when it started or how it ended. Somehow we both lost to our opponents. How did I know this? The umpire calmly said, "it is finished!" So we finally decided that it would be to our advantage to allow others to benefit from the participation (read - "disqualified in all the preliminaries") for the next three days. On the final day we duly reported to our group for the final for the final parade only to discover the captain of my group missing. All that I remember is that we were able to make that last march but was it our captain or somebody else who stood in I don't recall.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Boy on the Bus

He was just a boy on the bus, calling out to people to get on board. His eyes counted the empty seats and his voice called out for people to fill them up. I watched as he checked to see all the seats were taken and then he called out to the driver to start the bus. The trip to the town began and he came around collecting the fares - little hands gripping the bills and the coins inspecting the bills carefully and returning changes. He did it with ease, after all he was used to it. I couldn't but help think about this little boy as I watched him from my seat. Perhaps another of his age would have been delighted to go on such a ride. Another would have loved the sights of the "world" passing by but this boy kept his eyes on his little hands with the fares and the change. What might have been a delight to another was to him a routine. He will step down not because he has reached his destination but a stop to let people down and take in others. The youngest on board, he w...

Hope

What does hope look like? In a conference, we were each given play clay and asked to shape an object that symbolized hope for us as individuals. Everyone set to work with much excitement. Most of us a little unsure about the task, looking around at what the early starters were making, some small discussions and giggling as we each set to decide on an object to shape. Eventually, we all finished and with much delight looked at what each of us crafted.  Hope may appear different from person to person but having hope is a shared phenomenon. Losing hope is also a sad reality, but that is for another time. Our symbols of hope may also change as we grow and gain richer and deeper experience in life. One of the poems that I now resonate with a little more is William Butler Yeats' A Prayer For My Daughter . I look at this as a prayer of hope that Yeats expresses for his daughter as a storm, symbolising a chaotic world she would grow up in, rages on. Like Yeats, I have the joy of being a f...

Class of 2022

Every year, around this time a batch of students graduate and the whole community goes through the process of bidding "good-byes" and "see yous". It is indeed a day of mixed emotions as achievements are celebrated and the reality of parting of ways (but hopefully not of friendships) sets in. Every year, I walk the down the line to congratulate the graduates and wish them knowing fully well that some I will never meet again, at least in this life, though bits of news may make through now and then. A few hours ago today, we went through this whole process and finished off the academic year. Some are now back home, safe and sound, others travelling still; some are going back home with much joy to loved ones, some are going back with a heavy heart having lost loved ones in the near past. However, whatever may be the case, this fact remains "the journey is done and God has seen us through" and this is worth honouring. As such, as an old timer I writ...