(For those of you who haven't read the first part yet, here's the link)
Months had passed after that stinging one point loss. I was in the eleventh now. It was time then for the Amarnaveelson trophy- the memorial basketball tournament held by our school. The name derived from Amarnath, Naveed and Wilson, three of my seniors who sadly drowned in the Arabian Sea one wet monsoon night. This was a district level tournament with teams from in and around Udupi and Mangalore.
Obviously there were bigger and more coveted tournaments. But playing in our very own school courts in front of our own classmates was something special. Being on the school basketball team brings with it popularity. Kids looked up to you, they wanted to be like those tall guys who could jump so high. And of course the girls, well that doesn’t need any explanation.
D-Day arrived. The stands were erected with plastic Manikchand chairs on both sides of the two courts. Mattresses had been tied against the pillars so that nobody whacked their heads during lay ups. There was a separate enclosure for the teams and the dignitaries. Speakers had been set up to blare out songs at halftime and during timeouts. All in all, the stage was set for an adrenaline pumped evening.
Two students with good English were given the task of commentating:
WELCOME!
The Saturday crowd that had gathered roared in response.
WELCOME TO THE 4TH ANNUAL AMARNAVEELSON TOURNAMENT!!!!
(Cheers again)
IT’S A BRIGHT DAY TODAY AND WHY SHOULDN’T IT BE! ALL THE TEAMS MUST BE KEYED UP FOR THIS OCCASION…..
We were touted as the favourites to win. Home advantage coupled with solid exposure at the South Zone level meant we knew exactly what we were supposed to do. This time there would be no one-point loss. We won hands down. Finally we had a winner’s trophy to our name. Bandu, our Captain took the trophy from our principal with a huge grin on his face. We posed as the cameras flashed away. This was our moment of glory and we cherished every bit of it.
Twelfth standard brought with it the expected work load. The board exams were nothing. There were entrance exams to give. For me the first law exam for NUJS was drawing closer. It meant one thing. I had to choose. And basketball had to go. And just when I had made my decision, it happened. It was the physical instruction class on a Wednesday. I remember it was a Wednesday because that’s when we wear the sports wear, instead of the normal cream shirt.
We were in 12th…but we looked forward to the PT classes just like any other kid from the lower classes. It meant getting away from the dull science lectures that we had to sit through, throughout the week. We started off with a full court game as usual, 11th v. 12th. The 11th guys had one 6ft 4 inches chap by the name of Prasad, a.k.a Hoary (a Kannada word which means bull!). I tried tackling him, it was the ultimate mismatch. He faked right, turned left. I unfortunately didn’t get faked and stood still. So his elbow came crashing down on my upper lip. I could see stars dancing in mid-afternoon. The game continued as I went to the bathroom to check in the mirror. It was an awful sight. There was a huge gash on my upper lip with blood steadily dripping down onto my Tshirt and into the sink below. I turned on the tap and hurriedly tried to wash away the blood. Not a good idea, as it just got worse. One of my friends, Nishan comes up behind me.
“Dude are you ok? We were wondering what was taking you so lo-…” his voice trailing away as he sees me stooped over the sink which was now splattered with droplets of red.
“WTF!!!”
By now the others had turned up. One by one they saw my face and grimaced. Very diplomatic indeed!
Prasad was kneeling against the wall with a dazed expression on his face, unable to fathom what he had done.
Dude..I’m so sorry man!
“Iddok doo… id dappens” was all I managed as I spat out blood with the effort.
“Shit dude!! Don’t talk!” exclaimed the guys as they jumped back in alarm.
I nodded ruefully in response.
I was taken by the PT instructor to the Vice- Principal’s room pressing the wound with my soaked handkerchief. Kids going to their school buses stared at me in their usual unabashed way. Not exactly the kind of attention I wanted. When I reached the Vice Principal’s room, Ms. Lali A Mathew asked me to remove the handkerchief to see what she was dealing with. She grimaced too.
Damn it wasn’t that bad now was it!!
Apparently it was, as she directed the PT instructor to take me to a clinic which was down the highway. Once there I was made to lie down on the examination table as the nurse scurried around preparing for the doctor to arrive and take a look at me.
The moment he saw me, he decided that stitches were needed on the upper lip. He told the nurse to clean up the wound first. As the nurse scraped away above my upper lip with a blade I realised through the pain, that I was getting the first shave of my life. Certainly not the way I dreamt this moment. 15 mins of “this is going to hurt a little bit” later I was dropped back home by the PT sir in his Indica.
As I got out of the car an hour later I tried to say thank you in response. I found that the words simply refused to come out. He smiled genially at me and I realised that he had got the message. I turned towards the gate and find my mom at the door. Apparently the Vice-Principal had already called home and informed her of my exploits at school.
My mom was trying hard to control her laughter. As I got into the house, my dad burst out laughing. I didn’t get it. What was so funny?
I stood in front of the mirror. It took me a moment to realise that what I was seeing was actually my own reflection. To put it simply, I looked like Santa with half a beard. The right side of my face was swathed with cotton bandages crudely stuck in place with cello tape. Half my face was as if paralysed.
That night at dinner I realised that I could only barely open my mouth. It was liquid diet from then on. After two weeks of soup, I’ve ever since developed an aversion to it.
The next day I had to go to school and I dreaded it. Right from the bus stop to the class room and corridors, even the teachers didn’t spare me. I can’t blame any of them, I certainly looked a sight. But my spirits were severely dented and coupled with constant hunger I was in a murderous mood by that evening. My mother as usual had to face the brunt of my displaced aggression.
Finally the day came to remove the stitches. Finally I could eat solid food, and despite the scar on my upper lip that I was going to carry for the rest of my life, I felt great…
While all this was happening, our school basketball team was in Hyderabad playing the CBSE cluster level tournament. The winner would be selected to play in the CBSE south zone level. We won the clusters that year, thanks to some really exceptional play by Prasad and some outstanding team work in general. For the second time in two years we would be playing zonal ball. I was kicking myself through out this time, cursing my luck on getting injured at the wrong time. The team it seemed, didn’t need me any more. They were doing perfectly fine without me. Heck they had won the goddamn thing for the first time ever!
I was happy for the team, but went into depression for not being a part of the success. The victorious finally got back to school and I congratulated them. The south zone was a month away- ample time to practise and have a realistic chance of winning.
I was in a big dilemma now. Should I go or not? The NUJS entrance exam was just around the corner! Add to that, its not like I was needed or anything. So I went to Patil Sir, our Manager. He was very supportive:
" Listen, don’t worry. I had already put your name on the list. You are there on the team. Just practise for the next month and you can come with us."
That was very considerate.
However, that wasn’t the end of the troubles. I had completely lost my shooting. For some reason I could not convert a single shot. My elbow used to be in an awkward angle and I missed open shots. Air balls became frequent. As such I was turning out to be a liability. It seems I was on the team only on the strength of past performances.
The rest of the winning team from Hyderabad were brimming with a new found confidence which I found hard to replicate. A month later we set off for the CBSE South Zone Tournament in Kottayam, Kerala. Incidentally this picturesque place was also the backdrop for Arundathi Roy’s A God of Small Things.
The first game was against St. Thomas, a school from Trivandrum. I featured in the first five. A wrong choice as we lost that game 41-42. I had missed all the shots I attempted. Even if I had scored 1 basket we would have won. Patil Sir who had been confident in my abilities couldn’t digest my failures any more. What ensued was a scene I will never forget. As we made our way back to our room that day with a towel over my head, I felt like I had let everybody down.
“Gopal how long have you been on the team?” Patil sir asked quietly.
“This is my third year on the team.” I said flatly in response staring at the classroom floor (which was our makeshift room) unable to look into his eyes.
“Was it that difficult to score even one single basket?”
I couldn’t say anything to that. It was true. I had failed. This was supposed to be our year. Our last chance at winning and I had messed it up in the first game.
“I trusted you. I put your name on the team even though you didn’t turn up for the cluster tournament because of your injury. I could easily have given the opportunity to another person who would have gladly made use of it.”
“Sir enough! Leave him alone!”Our captain Sanjeev had spoken up from one corner of the room.
A couple of the others stopped untying their shoes midway.
“Dude its ok man. I deserve it.”
But I don’t know what had come over him. Sanjeev continued, his voice growing louder with every word.
“Cant you see that he tried? You think he intentionally missed those shots?”
Stunned silence.
“Sir ever since you started coaching us you’ve been pushing us. We have been doing our best. YOU CAN’T KEEP SHOVING US AROUND LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME!! WE’VE F*^&*NG HAD ENUF!”
More to come...
Months had passed after that stinging one point loss. I was in the eleventh now. It was time then for the Amarnaveelson trophy- the memorial basketball tournament held by our school. The name derived from Amarnath, Naveed and Wilson, three of my seniors who sadly drowned in the Arabian Sea one wet monsoon night. This was a district level tournament with teams from in and around Udupi and Mangalore.
Obviously there were bigger and more coveted tournaments. But playing in our very own school courts in front of our own classmates was something special. Being on the school basketball team brings with it popularity. Kids looked up to you, they wanted to be like those tall guys who could jump so high. And of course the girls, well that doesn’t need any explanation.
D-Day arrived. The stands were erected with plastic Manikchand chairs on both sides of the two courts. Mattresses had been tied against the pillars so that nobody whacked their heads during lay ups. There was a separate enclosure for the teams and the dignitaries. Speakers had been set up to blare out songs at halftime and during timeouts. All in all, the stage was set for an adrenaline pumped evening.
Two students with good English were given the task of commentating:
WELCOME!
The Saturday crowd that had gathered roared in response.
WELCOME TO THE 4TH ANNUAL AMARNAVEELSON TOURNAMENT!!!!
(Cheers again)
IT’S A BRIGHT DAY TODAY AND WHY SHOULDN’T IT BE! ALL THE TEAMS MUST BE KEYED UP FOR THIS OCCASION…..
We were touted as the favourites to win. Home advantage coupled with solid exposure at the South Zone level meant we knew exactly what we were supposed to do. This time there would be no one-point loss. We won hands down. Finally we had a winner’s trophy to our name. Bandu, our Captain took the trophy from our principal with a huge grin on his face. We posed as the cameras flashed away. This was our moment of glory and we cherished every bit of it.
Twelfth standard brought with it the expected work load. The board exams were nothing. There were entrance exams to give. For me the first law exam for NUJS was drawing closer. It meant one thing. I had to choose. And basketball had to go. And just when I had made my decision, it happened. It was the physical instruction class on a Wednesday. I remember it was a Wednesday because that’s when we wear the sports wear, instead of the normal cream shirt.
We were in 12th…but we looked forward to the PT classes just like any other kid from the lower classes. It meant getting away from the dull science lectures that we had to sit through, throughout the week. We started off with a full court game as usual, 11th v. 12th. The 11th guys had one 6ft 4 inches chap by the name of Prasad, a.k.a Hoary (a Kannada word which means bull!). I tried tackling him, it was the ultimate mismatch. He faked right, turned left. I unfortunately didn’t get faked and stood still. So his elbow came crashing down on my upper lip. I could see stars dancing in mid-afternoon. The game continued as I went to the bathroom to check in the mirror. It was an awful sight. There was a huge gash on my upper lip with blood steadily dripping down onto my Tshirt and into the sink below. I turned on the tap and hurriedly tried to wash away the blood. Not a good idea, as it just got worse. One of my friends, Nishan comes up behind me.
“Dude are you ok? We were wondering what was taking you so lo-…” his voice trailing away as he sees me stooped over the sink which was now splattered with droplets of red.
“WTF!!!”
By now the others had turned up. One by one they saw my face and grimaced. Very diplomatic indeed!
Prasad was kneeling against the wall with a dazed expression on his face, unable to fathom what he had done.
Dude..I’m so sorry man!
“Iddok doo… id dappens” was all I managed as I spat out blood with the effort.
“Shit dude!! Don’t talk!” exclaimed the guys as they jumped back in alarm.
I nodded ruefully in response.
I was taken by the PT instructor to the Vice- Principal’s room pressing the wound with my soaked handkerchief. Kids going to their school buses stared at me in their usual unabashed way. Not exactly the kind of attention I wanted. When I reached the Vice Principal’s room, Ms. Lali A Mathew asked me to remove the handkerchief to see what she was dealing with. She grimaced too.
Damn it wasn’t that bad now was it!!
Apparently it was, as she directed the PT instructor to take me to a clinic which was down the highway. Once there I was made to lie down on the examination table as the nurse scurried around preparing for the doctor to arrive and take a look at me.
The moment he saw me, he decided that stitches were needed on the upper lip. He told the nurse to clean up the wound first. As the nurse scraped away above my upper lip with a blade I realised through the pain, that I was getting the first shave of my life. Certainly not the way I dreamt this moment. 15 mins of “this is going to hurt a little bit” later I was dropped back home by the PT sir in his Indica.
As I got out of the car an hour later I tried to say thank you in response. I found that the words simply refused to come out. He smiled genially at me and I realised that he had got the message. I turned towards the gate and find my mom at the door. Apparently the Vice-Principal had already called home and informed her of my exploits at school.
My mom was trying hard to control her laughter. As I got into the house, my dad burst out laughing. I didn’t get it. What was so funny?
I stood in front of the mirror. It took me a moment to realise that what I was seeing was actually my own reflection. To put it simply, I looked like Santa with half a beard. The right side of my face was swathed with cotton bandages crudely stuck in place with cello tape. Half my face was as if paralysed.
That night at dinner I realised that I could only barely open my mouth. It was liquid diet from then on. After two weeks of soup, I’ve ever since developed an aversion to it.
The next day I had to go to school and I dreaded it. Right from the bus stop to the class room and corridors, even the teachers didn’t spare me. I can’t blame any of them, I certainly looked a sight. But my spirits were severely dented and coupled with constant hunger I was in a murderous mood by that evening. My mother as usual had to face the brunt of my displaced aggression.
Finally the day came to remove the stitches. Finally I could eat solid food, and despite the scar on my upper lip that I was going to carry for the rest of my life, I felt great…
While all this was happening, our school basketball team was in Hyderabad playing the CBSE cluster level tournament. The winner would be selected to play in the CBSE south zone level. We won the clusters that year, thanks to some really exceptional play by Prasad and some outstanding team work in general. For the second time in two years we would be playing zonal ball. I was kicking myself through out this time, cursing my luck on getting injured at the wrong time. The team it seemed, didn’t need me any more. They were doing perfectly fine without me. Heck they had won the goddamn thing for the first time ever!
I was happy for the team, but went into depression for not being a part of the success. The victorious finally got back to school and I congratulated them. The south zone was a month away- ample time to practise and have a realistic chance of winning.
I was in a big dilemma now. Should I go or not? The NUJS entrance exam was just around the corner! Add to that, its not like I was needed or anything. So I went to Patil Sir, our Manager. He was very supportive:
" Listen, don’t worry. I had already put your name on the list. You are there on the team. Just practise for the next month and you can come with us."
That was very considerate.
However, that wasn’t the end of the troubles. I had completely lost my shooting. For some reason I could not convert a single shot. My elbow used to be in an awkward angle and I missed open shots. Air balls became frequent. As such I was turning out to be a liability. It seems I was on the team only on the strength of past performances.
The rest of the winning team from Hyderabad were brimming with a new found confidence which I found hard to replicate. A month later we set off for the CBSE South Zone Tournament in Kottayam, Kerala. Incidentally this picturesque place was also the backdrop for Arundathi Roy’s A God of Small Things.
The first game was against St. Thomas, a school from Trivandrum. I featured in the first five. A wrong choice as we lost that game 41-42. I had missed all the shots I attempted. Even if I had scored 1 basket we would have won. Patil Sir who had been confident in my abilities couldn’t digest my failures any more. What ensued was a scene I will never forget. As we made our way back to our room that day with a towel over my head, I felt like I had let everybody down.
“Gopal how long have you been on the team?” Patil sir asked quietly.
“This is my third year on the team.” I said flatly in response staring at the classroom floor (which was our makeshift room) unable to look into his eyes.
“Was it that difficult to score even one single basket?”
I couldn’t say anything to that. It was true. I had failed. This was supposed to be our year. Our last chance at winning and I had messed it up in the first game.
“I trusted you. I put your name on the team even though you didn’t turn up for the cluster tournament because of your injury. I could easily have given the opportunity to another person who would have gladly made use of it.”
“Sir enough! Leave him alone!”Our captain Sanjeev had spoken up from one corner of the room.
A couple of the others stopped untying their shoes midway.
“Dude its ok man. I deserve it.”
But I don’t know what had come over him. Sanjeev continued, his voice growing louder with every word.
“Cant you see that he tried? You think he intentionally missed those shots?”
Stunned silence.
“Sir ever since you started coaching us you’ve been pushing us. We have been doing our best. YOU CAN’T KEEP SHOVING US AROUND LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME!! WE’VE F*^&*NG HAD ENUF!”
More to come...
