I shook off the little beads of sweat from my wrist and looked at my opponent. I held the badminton racket, with all the familiarity and comfort of a loved one’s warm hands in mine. I smiled and tilted my head a little, indicating I was going to serve. “Love all.” The game had begun.
Ashok was about three to four years older than me, with the grace of a deer on the badminton court and all the clumsiness of a hippopotamus off it. He would move his wrist just about an inch and the shuttlecock would fly gracefully to the other end of the court. He was equally capable of dropping whatever he was holding or trip over his own feet with the utmost ease otherwise. It was nature’s idea of a joke, I always mused.
“Fourteen, Five”
Damn, he scored again.She could’ve easily finished me off on that serve. That was my worst serve ever!“Gotcha!”
Grinning good-naturedly, I pretended to bash him up from the other side of the net. His next serve cut through the air and came dangerously close to my face after which I lashed out, more to defend myself. I had learnt from experience that being hit with one of his shots would sting for some time after.
“Good shot!”
“Arrey, it was only a fluke. I can’t beat you!”
“Bullshit. You just don’t try hard enough.”
“Never mind. This high roof is echoing your voice. If you scream the next time you score, I swear I shall be deaf very soon.”
“Haha. You’re the shrieky monkey, you know.”
“No. I go (
shriek). You can shriek at levels so high only dogs can hear it. See? There you go again”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You can’t hear it, dear. Only dogs can.”
“Hmm, then how do you?”
“Oh, me? Err...”
“Gotcha. Hahaha!”
Famous in our badminton court, Ashok possessed a killer serve, an amazing back-hand attack and tricky movements round the court. In short, he was always impossible to defeat, and the rest of us would judge one another by the number of points we scored against him.
“Smash it!”
“Huh?”
Snapping out of my day-dream, I wildly hit out and the shuttlecock zoomed at full speed and got lodged in the net. It remained stuck, looking like an oddly shaped flower with white, pointed petals. Ashok removed it, shaking his head ruefully. “You shouldn’t have let that point go, you know.”
“Oh, well… you won! Why’re you complaining?”
“Because you’re an idiot and can play better if you concentrate a little.”
“Oh, fine. I get blamed for you being a better player than I?”
“Anyway, I have to go now. Bye”
“Huh? Listen…”
But Ashok had already gone away. The high asbestos roof echoed his heavy footsteps. Sighing, I tightened the laces of my canvas shoes and walked over to Smith Sir.
He had been watching us intently. He looked thoughtful and a little worried crease appeared on his face as I neared him. “Sir, I have exams next week. I’ll come for practice after they are over. Bye!” I said and slung the bag with the racket over my shoulder and walked home.
“Hiya Ashok!”
“Hey. Good to see you. Where’ve you been? It’s been ages.”
“It’s only been a week, silly. I had exams. Ready for a game?”
“Yup, let me have a sip of water before, though.”
Spotting Smith Sir, I stretched and did a few half-hearted exercises, knowing I’d have to listen to a tirade about lazy people getting cramps, suffering gruesome consequences and all that. Keeping my racket down, I began some basic wrist exercises, the one that only involved moving my wrists and took least effort.
“Hello, Sir”
“Hi. Readying for a game with Ashok?
“Yes, sir. He just went to drink some water. Should I call him?”
“No, no. I’m surprised he came to play at all.”
“Why? Something wrong?”
“He’s been having this weird ankle pain and doesn’t want to accept it’s affecting his game. In fact, I told him to not come for a few days, but he didn’t agree.”
“That’s weird. I’ll tell him to take rest, the stupid fellow.”
“No, don’t. He’ll only play like one possessed to prove he’s fine and hurt himself all the more.”
“Tsk. Ok, then. I’ll finish the game soon and persuade him to leave with me.”
“Hello, Sir”
“Hi, Ashok. Begin, I shan’t disturb you.”
I remember that game vividly-the speed with which the shuttlecock buzzed past my ears and the ominous sound my racket made every time it came in contact with the shuttlecock. It seemed to tell the opponent, “There’s no way you’re going to hit this back…,” Ashok’s puzzled face as I suddenly seemed to expand and cover every edge of the court, my fellow players’ hoots, my own mad yells of joy… That day marked a new beginning, not in badminton, but in my life, as I made a new discovery about myself. Like a lot of things in life, I didn’t know it then…
I won game after game. I was unstoppable. Ashok was still a challenge, but with concentration and effort, I was able to win often. Coming to think of it, he had not defeated me for quite some time. Dizzy with success, I lay down on my bed and recounted the previous days’ events. Try as I might, I could not recall which singular event had caused my game to improve so drastically. It didn’t matter. One never needs reasons for things going well. I was a winner. I snuggled into my bedclothes and went to sleep.
A new day dawned and I returned to the badminton court, full of zest. Ashok waved to me and I readied myself for a good game. “Love all”
“Wait”
“Smith Sir? Good evening!”
I chatted with him for a few minutes until Ashok got impatient. “Alright, alright, I’m coming”, I said and walked over to my end of the court.
I won the first half of the set with much difficulty. He aced the second half; sweeping out serves that seemed like lightning, making me run in circles around the court when he hardly seemed to move from one place.
“It’s a tie.”
“So it is. Another to call it a game or we leave it at a tie?”
“Oh. Let’s finish it.”
The game began. I was flabbergasted. I lost. Only by two points at first and by more as we continued playing. I had been granted a magical power for a few days and was now stripped of it. I was a common player again, making sure I remembered the number of points I had scored against Ashok. It was deadly disappointing, but over all, a huge mystery.
“So, Ashok rules again, huh?”
“Oh, it’s my day, I suppose.”
I was not one to smile in the face of defeat. I possessed not the sporting spirit or the confidence that Ashok did. “Probably because of years of winning,” I thought savagely. I shook off the ugly thought and smiled at him. With a huge effort, I managed a watery smile.
“Maybe it was a bad day for you,” my mind comfortingly suggested an excuse.
“See you tomorrow, then?”
“I guess so. See you.”
I slumped as I walked past the other players, cringing every time someone turned towards me, fearing I would have to lie about being ill if they seemed surprised at my defeat.
“So, you have ankle pain today?” said Smith Sir and winked.
“Huh? No, I am quite fine, thank you.”
“Then why did you lose?”
“Hm, it was his day, I guess,” I said, echoing Ashok.
“You remember what I told you about Ashok being ill a few days back?”
“Oh, ya. I’m so glad Ashok is fine again. It is very obvious from his game.”
“Well?”
“Err, well what?”
“Silly, he never had pain of any sort. I just knew the Ashok fame was intimidating you.”
“You mean…”
“Yes. You won because you were capable of defeating him. Always. And it used to make me really angry that you expected every shot of his to be excellent, every serve to be top notch. He’s good, but not perfect, you know. Even the best can be defeated.”
“Accha, hmm. This is surprising news for me.”
“Ok, you’ve played enough for today. See you tomorrow.”
I played many games after, represented my school in numerous tournaments-won some, lost some. But I never forgot the lesson I learnt that day- never to be intimidated by another person, that a Nadal existed for every Federer. I saw surprising outcomes on the badminton court- a tiny kid outplaying a taller, known-to-be-better player with ease, a slim player mistaking his fat opponent to be slow, and a guy regretting placing a bet on winning a game with all the girls on the court. There was always a surprise element in the game. That little twist at the end of the novel you certainly did not expect. “A lot like life,” I mused
I heard a shout. A new game had begun. “Love all…”
---------------------
I want to write a few more sentences for the sake of nostalgia. The friendly banter pretty much follows conversations between my old badminton partner and me. Though we have lost touch completely and hardly talk anymore, I still have fond memories of the many months of badminton, with rain pattering on the (asbestos?) roof, making us shout to hear each other across the court.
---------------------
After I finished the story, I realised I had drawn inspiration from a similar incident in my life. I was in the 7th standard and was an avid player of badminton. A boy, better at the game than I, challenged me to a game, and won it. Slightly sour about being defeated by someone younger, I murmured something about ankle pain and not having been at my best. The next day, he was told that I was captain of my school’s badminton team.
“
Ayyo, you had ankle pain yesterday? That’s why you lost…”
He never won a game against me after that.