Our member, Ms S. Basu, gets a peep into human minds through the fan following for Maradona…
I have never been to the field to watch a real football game. My view of a match has been from my verandah, looking down on a bunch of kids wallowing in muddy puddles or under the scorching sun, running after the elusive ball. Yet the divide between East Bengal and Mohan Bagan is a real one and loyalties in the mock battle are as per one’s origin in the east or west ofBengal. For that one need not know the niceties and intricacies of the game but needs to be able to enjoy the taste of Hilsa or Chingri, when they are served.
I could never really comprehend the madness for the Football World Cup in which India never came near to participation till my son pointed out that the supremacy of the game was established by the fact that one could get passionately involved even when your team was not participating. “Can you think of such a possibility with cricket?” He asked. “You just adopt a country through the World Cup and follow its fortunes till the end”. I came to adopt Argentina and thereby Maradona.
Come to think of it, Maradona did not require the media or any branding to create his image. It was his game and skill alone that made him the unalloyed legend that he was. It was rather unobtrusively that he wound his way through the players and punched the ball into the top of the goal. I was mesmerised by the stodgy figure in the blue and white striped No. 10 jersey easing his way through the field. Off the field, he went about quite unaware of the fuss around him.
My grandson is now a fan of Messi and a host of other players that I cannot recognise. However, along with his craze for contemporary players, the legend of Maradona continues. There are some other names like Don Bradman, Mohammad Ali and Tiger Woods, who live on irrespective of the game they play or the country to which they belong. Maradona, like them, gave me a ring side view of what humans are capable of.
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Childhood charms – Ms M. Seet
Gopinathpur, a village in the interiors of Bengal, several kilometers from the town of Mecheda was an idyllic place for a child to grow up in. Our member, Ms M. Seet, was raised there; her mind today is full of bittersweet memories. The rusticity was charming, the clay road from Mecheda to Gopinathpur did not bother the children, as they walked through the lush green paddy fields, extending for miles, mud houses, muddy roads… nothing mattered. Not even when they turned slushy during the monsoon.
In fact, they would often take a short cut through fields, walking on the narrow raised track between fields, enjoying the changing colours of the crops, wiling away time playing on the fields and also studying. She went to the local primary school. There were no benches and they sat in floor mats.
There was no electricity and it turned pitch dark after sunset. They were happy with the flickering hurricane lamps that every house had. The passing of her mother at a very early age made life a little difficult. Then her older sister got married and she had to take charge of her younger siblings. It was a struggle, managing both the home and studies at that tender age. There was no shortage of fun though. She clearly remembers the Rathh (chariot) festival in the village. Everyone competed to pull the rope of the chariot but it was no easy task. If it rained and the earth was slippery, they would invariably fall. That added to the fun and the excitement of the competition. There was also the Rathh’er mela (chariot fair) with all the little things on sale that was most exciting; the papad (thin, crisp, round flatbread) available at the fair was particularly special. It is all still fresh in her mind.
Then came the “Jatras” (folk theatre) in winter, which the villagers looked forward to. People finished all household chores early to reach the arena early and grab the front seats. All seating was on the floor, covered with floor mats.
Oh! The joys of simple living; she remembers it all today. The little money they had and yet the fulsome enjoyment.
(As narrated to Support Elders by our member)
In fact, they would often take a short cut through fields, walking on the narrow raised track between fields, enjoying the changing colours of the crops, wiling away time playing on the fields and also studying. She went to the local primary school. There were no benches and they sat in floor mats.
There was no electricity and it turned pitch dark after sunset. They were happy with the flickering hurricane lamps that every house had. The passing of her mother at a very early age made life a little difficult. Then her older sister got married and she had to take charge of her younger siblings. It was a struggle, managing both the home and studies at that tender age. There was no shortage of fun though. She clearly remembers the Rathh (chariot) festival in the village. Everyone competed to pull the rope of the chariot but it was no easy task. If it rained and the earth was slippery, they would invariably fall. That added to the fun and the excitement of the competition. There was also the Rathh’er mela (chariot fair) with all the little things on sale that was most exciting; the papad (thin, crisp, round flatbread) available at the fair was particularly special. It is all still fresh in her mind.
Then came the “Jatras” (folk theatre) in winter, which the villagers looked forward to. People finished all household chores early to reach the arena early and grab the front seats. All seating was on the floor, covered with floor mats.
Oh! The joys of simple living; she remembers it all today. The little money they had and yet the fulsome enjoyment.
(As narrated to Support Elders by our member)
