"The game of billiards has destroyed my naturally sweet disposition."
...................................Mark Twain- Speech, April 24, 1906
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At our Andhra University, Waltair, where hundreds of us suddenly joined as CSIR Scholars in the early 1960s, we were automatically made 'compulsory' members of the Faculty Club, just because our Scholarship jumped to Rs 250, equaling the pay of Lecturers, thanks to the Chinese Invasion. The Faculty Club saw the chance of an explosive infusion of dependable revenues and lots of enthusiastic young blood.
Overnight the character of the Club changed from a sedate nook for permanent teachers to a raucous hang-around of fly-by-night upstarts. The resulting encounters between stuffy Senior Professors and their sub-junior Scholars were embarrassingly novel. While most Professors retreated to the Reading Room burying their faces in Time and Newsweek, Prof PM couldn't care.
With his lanky figure and weather-beaten face he would stroll into the midst of an ongoing cricket match between Scholars of two Departments, snatch the bat from the batsman, hit a couple of sizzling boundaries and huge sixes, hand in the bat, walk to the bowler's end, bowl an over or two picking up a couple of wickets with slow bewitching googlies and donkey drops just to show who is who and what is what, wave a cheery bye-bye, amble back to the Chess Table, displace one of the Scholars asking him to join his opponent, checkmate in half a dozen moves, slump into the sofa of the Reading Room, pick up "Men Only", and relax over a cup of black sugar-free Coffee.
Once and for all, Scholars are silenced into awesome submission and look forward to more such visits from PM.
The Faculty Club was open the whole day from 9 to 9, with unending supplies of Coffee and Tiffin on 'credit account' to be deducted from the scholarship of the next month. Many FRSes (Frustrated Research Scholars like me) practically lived there.
On the other hand, when I joined the Technology (Officers) Club at KGP as soon as I landed there in 1965, I found to my dismay that it was open only in the evenings with just home-brewed Tea supplies. Most of its 'regulars' were married couples in their late 40s, with very few bachelors like me.
They were hogging the Chess, Bridge, TT, Caroms and the seasonal Badminton facilities. They were all grumpy folks out to 'win' to boost their sagging professional morale rather than enjoy the games. There was just no scope for a genuine sport-lover. Fortunately the couples never entered the tiny Library which turned out to be my nook, unless I was called in to join when the wife of one of the couples was away (a rather poor stepney).
I was only good at Badminton and loved to get a chance to play it. But it was not to be, initially. Our out-door Badminton season lasted just the two winter months of December-January when the evening breeze stalled, allowing the shuttle-cock to play true.
I would take my racket and jump the fence separating the Faculty Hostel and the Technology Club hoping to get just one good game of singles. I used to find that I was always forestalled by Prof and Mrs ST. They were already there firmly occupying the Singles Court on either side of the net and playing games one after unceasing another. They would never get tired because they never moved, standing still at the Center and hoping the shuttle would sail to them. The shuttle-boy (urchin son of the Club-Keeper Das) would be chasing and retrieving those shuttles which drop out of their reach.
And I would be waiting and waiting. There was no hint of any chance for me because by and by they would be joined by the ample couple Prof and Mrs Sood in unending Doubles Games.
Finally after a week, I suggested to ST that I would play singles from one side of the Court and he and his Mrs could play doubles from the other side: a very comfortable and challenging proposition for them. And, after I made them try to run around for a couple of 2-to-1 games, they would be tired and gladly give their place to VS and his wife. By and by more junior bachelors joined the Club and a separate Court was laid for the exclusive use of Married Couples.
There was this bespectacled shortsighted bachelor RG who never would move from one side of the TT Table. He had a miserable temper while playing TT, but otherwise was very sweet, laughing boisterously all the time. One day he was playing against me and was losing badly. After every hit that sailed astray, he would growl, shout, hit his racket against the edge of the Table, swear in chaste Bengali and throw tantrums with himself. Finally he lost his temper with his soda-bottle specs because his dripping sweat fell on his glasses making them opaque. Since the glasses come without 'wind-screen-wipers', he would have to stop, take them out once in every while and clear them with his hankie. And he so lost his cool with this drill that after a lofty shot that hit the wall, he stopped, took out his specs into his hands, broke them into two, dashed them on the floor and shouted: "Carry on!"; upon which I felt so frightened that I dumped my racket on the Table and scooted like a bat out of hell.
And then there was this Prof AV who hogged one end of the chess table and refused to quit. His technique was simple: He wouldn't make his move firmly, but hold his 'piece' gingerly in his hand, move it into a new square, keep holding it, look at the face of his opponent trying to read his mind, leave the 'piece' slowly or take it back (which was allowed as long as you don't let go of the piece from your hand; folks seeing him play used to joke that AV invented back-move before chess was). On the other hand, the moment he 'kills' one of his opponent's pieces he would pocket it irretrievably. Naturally everyone avoided him and he would get bored and pretend to quit. When he was replaced by a twosome waiting to play against each other, he would return, watch the game, offer suggestions to both the players and criticize every other move till they got disheartened and left the table; to be retaken by him waiting for the next singleton player foolish enough to play against him.
AVK set the record of never losing a single game; all of them were won by default (abandoned midway by his stream of opponents).
Mark Twain would have loved the Games Room of our Technology Club.
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Saswat just now paid his dues for reading the 'Going..Going..Gone' story:
Overnight the character of the Club changed from a sedate nook for permanent teachers to a raucous hang-around of fly-by-night upstarts. The resulting encounters between stuffy Senior Professors and their sub-junior Scholars were embarrassingly novel. While most Professors retreated to the Reading Room burying their faces in Time and Newsweek, Prof PM couldn't care.
With his lanky figure and weather-beaten face he would stroll into the midst of an ongoing cricket match between Scholars of two Departments, snatch the bat from the batsman, hit a couple of sizzling boundaries and huge sixes, hand in the bat, walk to the bowler's end, bowl an over or two picking up a couple of wickets with slow bewitching googlies and donkey drops just to show who is who and what is what, wave a cheery bye-bye, amble back to the Chess Table, displace one of the Scholars asking him to join his opponent, checkmate in half a dozen moves, slump into the sofa of the Reading Room, pick up "Men Only", and relax over a cup of black sugar-free Coffee.
Once and for all, Scholars are silenced into awesome submission and look forward to more such visits from PM.
The Faculty Club was open the whole day from 9 to 9, with unending supplies of Coffee and Tiffin on 'credit account' to be deducted from the scholarship of the next month. Many FRSes (Frustrated Research Scholars like me) practically lived there.
On the other hand, when I joined the Technology (Officers) Club at KGP as soon as I landed there in 1965, I found to my dismay that it was open only in the evenings with just home-brewed Tea supplies. Most of its 'regulars' were married couples in their late 40s, with very few bachelors like me.
They were hogging the Chess, Bridge, TT, Caroms and the seasonal Badminton facilities. They were all grumpy folks out to 'win' to boost their sagging professional morale rather than enjoy the games. There was just no scope for a genuine sport-lover. Fortunately the couples never entered the tiny Library which turned out to be my nook, unless I was called in to join when the wife of one of the couples was away (a rather poor stepney).
I was only good at Badminton and loved to get a chance to play it. But it was not to be, initially. Our out-door Badminton season lasted just the two winter months of December-January when the evening breeze stalled, allowing the shuttle-cock to play true.
I would take my racket and jump the fence separating the Faculty Hostel and the Technology Club hoping to get just one good game of singles. I used to find that I was always forestalled by Prof and Mrs ST. They were already there firmly occupying the Singles Court on either side of the net and playing games one after unceasing another. They would never get tired because they never moved, standing still at the Center and hoping the shuttle would sail to them. The shuttle-boy (urchin son of the Club-Keeper Das) would be chasing and retrieving those shuttles which drop out of their reach.
And I would be waiting and waiting. There was no hint of any chance for me because by and by they would be joined by the ample couple Prof and Mrs Sood in unending Doubles Games.
Finally after a week, I suggested to ST that I would play singles from one side of the Court and he and his Mrs could play doubles from the other side: a very comfortable and challenging proposition for them. And, after I made them try to run around for a couple of 2-to-1 games, they would be tired and gladly give their place to VS and his wife. By and by more junior bachelors joined the Club and a separate Court was laid for the exclusive use of Married Couples.
There was this bespectacled shortsighted bachelor RG who never would move from one side of the TT Table. He had a miserable temper while playing TT, but otherwise was very sweet, laughing boisterously all the time. One day he was playing against me and was losing badly. After every hit that sailed astray, he would growl, shout, hit his racket against the edge of the Table, swear in chaste Bengali and throw tantrums with himself. Finally he lost his temper with his soda-bottle specs because his dripping sweat fell on his glasses making them opaque. Since the glasses come without 'wind-screen-wipers', he would have to stop, take them out once in every while and clear them with his hankie. And he so lost his cool with this drill that after a lofty shot that hit the wall, he stopped, took out his specs into his hands, broke them into two, dashed them on the floor and shouted: "Carry on!"; upon which I felt so frightened that I dumped my racket on the Table and scooted like a bat out of hell.
And then there was this Prof AV who hogged one end of the chess table and refused to quit. His technique was simple: He wouldn't make his move firmly, but hold his 'piece' gingerly in his hand, move it into a new square, keep holding it, look at the face of his opponent trying to read his mind, leave the 'piece' slowly or take it back (which was allowed as long as you don't let go of the piece from your hand; folks seeing him play used to joke that AV invented back-move before chess was). On the other hand, the moment he 'kills' one of his opponent's pieces he would pocket it irretrievably. Naturally everyone avoided him and he would get bored and pretend to quit. When he was replaced by a twosome waiting to play against each other, he would return, watch the game, offer suggestions to both the players and criticize every other move till they got disheartened and left the table; to be retaken by him waiting for the next singleton player foolish enough to play against him.
AVK set the record of never losing a single game; all of them were won by default (abandoned midway by his stream of opponents).
Mark Twain would have loved the Games Room of our Technology Club.
**************************************************************************
Saswat just now paid his dues for reading the 'Going..Going..Gone' story:
-
Dear Sir,
As promised, here it is the GPS Limerick:
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"I know of a great man from Nellore
Who I thought knew Physics galore;
But now that he blogs,
and his blogging leapfrogs,
He amazes with the wisdom he has in store!"
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gps: Well, the structure, rhythm, rhyme and poetry are all fine; but it is not bawdy at all! As I said a few blogs ago, limerick is a low-level mocking activity, while Saswat has been far too 'polite', maybe because he sat through my classes at IIT.
Varun N Achar, the born-heckler in the gps-mold who is not handicapped thus could possibly rectify this defect!!!
Over to you, Varun!!
=====================================================
gps: Well, the structure, rhythm, rhyme and poetry are all fine; but it is not bawdy at all! As I said a few blogs ago, limerick is a low-level mocking activity, while Saswat has been far too 'polite', maybe because he sat through my classes at IIT.
Varun N Achar, the born-heckler in the gps-mold who is not handicapped thus could possibly rectify this defect!!!
Over to you, Varun!!
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