The Touch Of The Tiger

My Mamujaan's vibrant legendary love affair with Hockey has been unmitigated for as far back as I can remember.
Mummy had these clear instructions: "Whenever there is a hockey tournament in Bombay, you must make it a point to go and encourage the boys."!!!

Of course it was always not possible, but Mummy did sincerely try and went to witness matches whenever she could.

And we had not the remotest idea that this one, where I had gone along too, was going to become a memorable one.

From the beginning it was different.
First and foremost this was a friendly match between IA(Indian Airlines) and PIA (Pakistan International Airlines).
Although it was a friendly match, the interest aroused among fans was no less. We had no idea till we reached the venue.

With Hockey being forever like the illegitimate halfsister of Cricket, the fans of the game are familiar with an empty stadium.
But this match was being played at the prestigious Bombay Gymkhana. The place was overflowing with spectators by the time we reached. Not an inch of seating space left, Mummy and I stood looking around the place to find a spot from where we could get a clear view of the ground.

Someone suggested we go on the upper floor.
"Up-above-the-world-so-high" also people had crammed in to watch the game. Mummy and I were lucky to find a place from where the view was good. Feasting our eyes on the clear velvety green field we almost forgot the sweaty jostling and climbing of minutes before.

The announcer in the commentators box had already started describing the weather and colours as the players filed out neatly on the ground.

The game got off to an engrossing start and we seemed pretty well-settled in our positions.
Standing hardly mattered to me. Wonder if Mummy had other thoughts, her focus though was evidently on the game.
But I was looking idhar-udhar also :-)
How could one ignore all that sophisticated gorgeousness :-)

And there sitting just a few feet away among some beautiful women and children was the elegant Nawab Of Pataudi.
Mansoor Ali Khan.

Having read and heard about them, his eyes caught my attention. They are still alive in my memory. I had not understood then, but do so well now. That unmistakable friendliness in them was so true and real although one of the eyes was not real!!!
Those large dreamy eyes were calm and peaceful, and as they looked at us, an expression then strange to me, fleetingly crossed his quiet face.

He got up from his comfortable seating space and walked gracefully towards us.

The legendary Nawab whose pictures with his ravishing Begum and the fairy tales that surrounded their life was my only introduction to him, was right beside us and actually speaking to Mummy.

He was telling my mother to go and sit in his place. As she walked equally gracefully to take her place, he took his.
Near me (where Mummy had stood)!!!

His autograph on a piece of blue envelope as were used in the good old days to send what was known as "airmail", is still stuck in one of my olllllddd diaries.

For the last one and a half day I'm searching that diary in my old books ... and hoping my only touch with The Tiger is not lost.

The strength within

The month of Ramzan was in its third week. It was sehri time. Quarter past four I think when the landline phone at the corner table started ringing. It was unusual. Fear made me to hurriedly pick up the receiver. On the other side was my brother. I held my breath.
He was calling from a hospital near our homes.
A very close family friend, almost a family member to us, had been taken there just a little while back. My brother tried to assure me that it would all be fine, and there seems to be no apparent reason to worry. I wanted to believe him. But back to the dining table to eat before the time for sehri ended, my mouth felt parched. I could barely chew the morsel I had put in.

As I entered the hospital lounge just after the Fajir namaz, I saw my brother along with our friend's family. That consisted of his wife and his daughter. It was revealed that he had to undergo an angiography as early as possible.

The two homely females looking evidently exhausted with fatigue, were taking turns in going up and down from the ICU, to the doctor's chamber, to the hospital pharamcy. I wonder how much our presence helped soothe their worried minds and perturbed nerves. But I think those hours were numb and vacant when time stood motionless for them. All that mattered was they had to do the job on hand.

By evening the doctors had performed angioplasty on our friend and declared him "as-of-now-out-of-danger". But the risk remained. Bypass surgery or multiple angioplasty was an absolute must declared the doctors.

And in the days that followed I was amazed at the transformation my friend's 20-something Plain Jane daughter underwent. Her tear-smothered face turned tough like a rock. Eyes red with crying turned red with resolve. She suddenly became a fortress that carefully sheltered her parents and took all the harsh blows on herself.
She had astonished me with her courage and resilience.

A remark that I had heard from one of their relatives not very long ago hit my mind. He had said that this daughter was the cause for worry to the family. She was so ordinary looking and unpolished in manners that at twenty plus she was still unmarried.
"Isn't that a cause for concern?"
I had ignored his idiotic comment then. But now as I saw this same girl move about with confidence and sensitivity I found myself battling with my mind as to why the feminine gender has to time and again stand trials at the altar of societal dogmas.

With a friend for company this tall straightforward girl, her resolute eyes looking for solutions, went about meeting doctors who could educate her on the case and people who had undergone bypasses in the past to understand what her father would be in for.
She then discussed the facilities available at various hospitals, visiting and checking out the facts herself.
The next step was perhaps the most important... and the most difficult one too.
To select an appropriate surgeon.

And all these details she worked out intelligently, diligently and with great composure. At home her mother looked after our friend, and outside the house this girl and her friend co-ordinated the course of action with a huge measure of maturity and fortitude.

I once again am forced to wonder why girls are looked upon only as marriage material. Why do they have to "settle" (read married) in life by a certain age? Are these norms not true for boys? And why settling down has to be with marriage only?
No denying the fact that marriage is important. But then it is important for both...the boys and the girls.
How much more will the girls have to do to prove their worth in their homes and outside?