EATING LIKE A GIANT – (Memoir series – Story 31)

ACE THE RACE WITH GRACE

Games and sports, oh man, they’re like a rollercoaster of fun that leaves your stomach growling for more.
 
You see, at home, it’s all about hearty meals.
 
Mummy whips up huge portions of everything. And she insists on announcing to the whole world that I’m the insatiable eating machine. To be honest, I can gobble down a massive bowl of rice that could easily feed a small army, but who’s counting, right?

She’s thinking I’m downing all that grub just for the fun of it.
 
No, sir! I need that fuel to power my daily bike races to school, to keep my trumpet sessions with the school band blowing strong, and to stay revved up for the wild world of sports and games I dive into.
 
Now, let’s fast forward to the most exciting time of the year – the week leading up to the sports day.
 
We’re out there, giving our all in every event under the sun, perfecting our long jumps like an art form.
 
But then, Anil Shivram shows up, like the ultimate wildcard, saying he wants to join in.
 
We exchange these knowing looks, thinking this guy’s lung capacity is as good as a deflated balloon.
 
After all, this is the guy who taught us how to handle a cigarette – while five of us are casually puffing away at one shared cigarette, he inhales a whole cigarette like he’s been training for it like a seasoned pro.
 
So here we are, preparing for a good laugh as Anil attempts a long jump.
 
He rolls up his trousers like he’s about to wade through a puddle, and then, he defies gravity itself. He leaps farther than any of us in the long jump, masters the high jump, and pole vaults over those bars like he’s got some supernatural charm going on.
 
We’re left scratching our heads, wondering if there’s some smoky secret behind his awe-inspiring athleticism. It’s like he’s exhaling victory in perfectly round smoke rings.
 
Ah, how could I forget, this is the same Anil who cycles with me from school to Little Shenoy’s theatre like the wind. Just to catch a matinee show.
 
Since attending the first class in the noon session is essential for getting attendance for the full day, we have to beat the clock to make it in time for the movie.
 
So, we’re like secret agents, sneaking out through the side door, pedalling through the streets like rockets on fire, and securing those precious movie tickets like they’re gold medals from the cycling Olympics.

So there’s no way we’ll ever miss a good Hollywood movie that hits town.
 
But hold on. It’s time for the 10,000-meter cycle race. And for us, it’s a walk in the park.
 
My trusty old Hercules may look like it’s been around since the dinosaurs, but believe me, it’s been pampered like royalty. Greased and tuned to perfection, and a set of fresh tires – we’re ready to roll.
 
As the race unfolds, only a select few can keep up with our lightning pace. I’m zooming through the bumps and troughs of the track and take the lead.  Clearly, I’m on my way to getting that first prize two years in a row.
 
But just then, for a split second, I glance back. And I spot my buddy PP right behind me.
 
The teachers are yelling, urging us to finish. But I do the unthinkable. In a moment of friendship, I reach out a hand to PP. And together, we conquer the finish line. It’s like we just scored an Olympic double gold for friendship and sportsmanship.
 
Now, safety is the name of the game. Ever since that infamous javelin incident a couple of years back, when Nahas’ javelin took a wild turn and punctured Kannan’s thigh, we’ve learned our lesson. It was like a scene from a suspense thriller, and it took the bravery of our teachers to rescue Kannan and get him to the hospital on the school bus. Luckily, he made it out alive, even though he returned with a bit of a swagger in his walk.
 
So, now, events like javelin, discus, and hammer throw come with a level of scrutiny that even Sherlock Holmes would appreciate.
 
No one wants another javelin incident on their hands. It’s all fun and games until someone gets speared, right?
 
I’m famished as hell after all this excitement. And tonight again, Mummy is going to have to watch me polish off an entire bowl of rice all by myself.
 
But I need to refuel for tomorrow.
 
Right before the sports day prize distribution, we have to form a human pyramid. The strong and heavy guys form the base of this acrobatic tower, and we have to support multiple tiers of smaller boys on top of us.

We can’t let them down. They trust that they’re standing on the shoulders of giants, after all.

And for this, I must continue eating like a giant.

Stepping away from the pages of my memoir,

Hello, my dear reader,

Our journey through time began in the magical year of 1964 when I was just a tender 4-year-old. And now, in this week’s chapter, we find ourselves transported to 1974, where I had grown to be a curious and independent 14-year-old.

During this era, my life took me on a captivating odyssey from the bustling metropolis of Calcutta to the quaint serenity of Kerala’s picturesque villages and towns, finally settling in the vibrant town of Ernakulam.

I watched my mother’s transformation, as she evolved from the most enchanting and dependable presence in my world into the strongest and most fearless woman.

Despite the desolation, the confusion, the anguish of a son watching his mother battle breast cancer and later a relentless brain tumour in a time when advanced medical care was a distant promise, and then losing her when I was just a mere 10-year-old boy, this is a narrative of resilience, a beacon of light in a world drenched in sorrow and separation.

Now, as we wrap up the 31st story in this memoir, I’m taking a step back from our weekly rendezvous. But I shall return in due time.

Thank you for joining me on this writer’s journey.

I extend my deepest appreciation to those who have subscribed to my blog, and to those who haven’t yet, I implore you to consider doing so. Your presence is a cherished part of this creative odyssey.