My first and last Coach...

Most of us have that one sport that we used to play during our childhood but never really pursued it so that it reached our adulthood. Somehow, somewhere that sport just lost its sheen in our lives. As we speed through in this crazy, chaotic world, the sport gets left behind, never to be re visited again. Badminton is one such sport for me. Well, this post is not about Badminton but rather the man who introduced me to it- my Mama .

Mama( Mom’s older brother) and I shared a very normal child-adult relationship- full of tender love and playfulness. I used to be very reserved as a child (quite contrary to what I am now) and Mama would do everything he could to make me speak up. A faint smile or a simple nod of the head is all that I managed to give as a response to what he was saying. He lived with his family in Coorg and was a sport enthusiast. His house had a sports room that was overflowing with cricket bats, table tennis rackets, and tennis balls and of course Badminton rackets. He handed over my first ever Badminton racket when I was barely 7 years old. As with any child of that age, I was super excited. He taught me how to hold the racket, how NOT TO hold the racket, how to not injure yourself, how to serve etc. His French beard and an almost bald head somehow gave him a very stern look, and I listened very keenly to all his advices, absorbing every word. He loved me and I loved him back, often sharing this love in a quiet and rather inexpressive way.  That one Badminton racket was what bonded us together and it was our way of communicating to each other.

Soon Mama’s health began to deteriorate. The strong, lean frame was making way for a frail, gaunt one. “He’s ill” is all that my Mom would tell me. Our badminton sessions were reducing in frequency and most of his trips to Bangalore were centred around medical check ups. He could barely support himself and was eventually bed ridden. All of us were counting the last few days of his life, except Mama himself. Our Badminton sessions had stopped by then. Yet, he continued to enquire me about my practise and my exercises.

One day the inevitable happened. All of us were more or less prepared for it. But no matter how prepared you are to face a tragedy, when it actually strikes you, it gets pretty hard to digest the fact that the person is no more. I was just 10 years old then and it was the first time I was seeing death so closely. Honestly, it didn’t really affect me much at that time.

It’s been 15 years since Mama passed away. And here I am, recollecting all those memories in the wee hours of the morning. Most of the time, we bury  a memory or a thought or a person deep within our subconscious mind and never really think of it(him) until one day all the memories suddenly spring back to life. It’s a bitter sweet feeling. I simply cannot fathom why Mama has occupied my thoughts to such an extent today. It’s probably because when you lose someone close to you, that person takes away a part of you with him/her. A part that you will never find in anyone you meet later in life or anything you do. That part is gone. Period. You realise how important a person was to you only long after they are gone and when you are very well aware of the fact that they he/she will never be back again And today, I simply woke up to a feeling of missing him so much, almost like missing a part of myself. As for my Badminton practise, well it died the day Mama died. It died the day, my first and last coach died. I have never seriously picked up the racket since the past 15 years, ever.