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Like my son, my Father was fair, handsome, wiry and athletic in his youth though not as tall. He did his schooling and FA (Intermediate) in the hoary V. R. College, Nellore and the High School attached to it:
Indeed he kept his figure till he died at 80. And, like me, he used to say that the secret of his health was the rough and tumble outdoor games he played in his boyhood. It was while he was at VRC that he picked up Ball Badminton and became proficient in it. And he kept his mulberry-wood racket nailed to the wall as a memento of his schooling. It was a cute bat to look at.
And then he went to do his B.A. at the Madras Christian College:
And from ball badminton he graduated to tennis; and he had also kept his tennis racket nailed to the wall as another memento. This was never again used and was 'framed' in an elaborate fixture with screws which had to be tightened just so...not too tight nor too lax to prevent warping. This bat was too heavy to lift for puny me in my school days. I don't know what happened to it....but I managed to break his mulberry badminton racket on court into two at its neck...and wept.
After his B.A. he was always posted as a teacher and then HM in one rural school or the other where anything like tennis was out of the question.
While we were in Muthukur he was in his late 30s and was fond of joining us students in the badminton court. While we were all playing our Fives in the school grounds after our classes were let off, he would be walking back home in his dhoti and jibba after locking his Office, with his peon walking behind him carrying a Pandora Box...I never knew what was in that box because he used to open it before we woke up in the morning...but I guess it was his 'Home Work'.
He would then stop at the badminton court, ask his peon to go ahead and dump the box at home and push off, and he would walk in coolly where I was stationed and replace me in the game asking me to sit out for the nonce. And all the students in the court would be giggling that they would have a walkover...but he would beat all of them with his 'smashes' and 'screws' (lingo for spins) and 'serves'. And after a few minutes he would retire, letting me back into the court.
And surely I inherited his badminton genes and later on coached my son at home with a shuttlecock and he got to be a Patel Hall Blue.
Father also had preserved a khaki knicker-sports banian-wristband tennis outfit. This he used to don on weekend mornings. Muthukur had a Badminton Club of sorts consisting of Officials like the local Doctor, Police Officer, Munsiff, and half a dozen landlords' youthful sons with deep pockets. And they used to gather at 5 AM in summer and play friendly matches. My Father was the Captain of the Officers which always used to manage to beat the Young Reddys. When I was just a kid, Father used to take me along for these outings, not out of love for me, but to act as a 'dummy substitute' till everyone arrived, and thereafter I was degraded as a 'picker'....but that is how one learns any ball game.
The Badminton Club wound up unceremoniously soon after the Doctor and the Sub-Inspector got transferred, and the new arrivals turned it into a gambling den...
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Like my son, my Father was fair, handsome, wiry and athletic in his youth though not as tall. He did his schooling and FA (Intermediate) in the hoary V. R. College, Nellore and the High School attached to it:
Indeed he kept his figure till he died at 80. And, like me, he used to say that the secret of his health was the rough and tumble outdoor games he played in his boyhood. It was while he was at VRC that he picked up Ball Badminton and became proficient in it. And he kept his mulberry-wood racket nailed to the wall as a memento of his schooling. It was a cute bat to look at.
And then he went to do his B.A. at the Madras Christian College:
And from ball badminton he graduated to tennis; and he had also kept his tennis racket nailed to the wall as another memento. This was never again used and was 'framed' in an elaborate fixture with screws which had to be tightened just so...not too tight nor too lax to prevent warping. This bat was too heavy to lift for puny me in my school days. I don't know what happened to it....but I managed to break his mulberry badminton racket on court into two at its neck...and wept.
After his B.A. he was always posted as a teacher and then HM in one rural school or the other where anything like tennis was out of the question.
While we were in Muthukur he was in his late 30s and was fond of joining us students in the badminton court. While we were all playing our Fives in the school grounds after our classes were let off, he would be walking back home in his dhoti and jibba after locking his Office, with his peon walking behind him carrying a Pandora Box...I never knew what was in that box because he used to open it before we woke up in the morning...but I guess it was his 'Home Work'.
He would then stop at the badminton court, ask his peon to go ahead and dump the box at home and push off, and he would walk in coolly where I was stationed and replace me in the game asking me to sit out for the nonce. And all the students in the court would be giggling that they would have a walkover...but he would beat all of them with his 'smashes' and 'screws' (lingo for spins) and 'serves'. And after a few minutes he would retire, letting me back into the court.
And surely I inherited his badminton genes and later on coached my son at home with a shuttlecock and he got to be a Patel Hall Blue.
Father also had preserved a khaki knicker-sports banian-wristband tennis outfit. This he used to don on weekend mornings. Muthukur had a Badminton Club of sorts consisting of Officials like the local Doctor, Police Officer, Munsiff, and half a dozen landlords' youthful sons with deep pockets. And they used to gather at 5 AM in summer and play friendly matches. My Father was the Captain of the Officers which always used to manage to beat the Young Reddys. When I was just a kid, Father used to take me along for these outings, not out of love for me, but to act as a 'dummy substitute' till everyone arrived, and thereafter I was degraded as a 'picker'....but that is how one learns any ball game.
The Badminton Club wound up unceremoniously soon after the Doctor and the Sub-Inspector got transferred, and the new arrivals turned it into a gambling den...
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