Nupur

I never thought the first entry on this blog would be about football. Or even sports, for that matter. However, it IS, thanks to me unexpectedly attending the screening of EPL finals in LT. See, this kind of thing would’ve never happened had I not promised a friend I’d accompany her. So, as fate had it, [and fate was on a roll on Saturday, 29 August (ask IITians about it)], there I was, sitting in LT with a bunch of thoroughly unfamiliar football punters oohing and aahing with every step Arsenal and Man U took or mistook. Headers were rather entertaining during the course of the game; plenty of times heads just happened pop up in the trajectory of the ball, eventually rewarding Man U with a self goal by Arsenal.

It reminded me of the days when we used to play football in the building backyard, eight or nine society kids, with an embarrassing, slightly trapezoidal space of 70ftX15ft to play in. I was the only girl in the group, occasionally, some other girl would join. I was particularly good at intercepting the football with my head, however, this was never ever done deliberately. My head would just surface in the path of the ball, resulting in a superb header which would leave the boys blushing, embarrassed. Surprisingly, most times, I never saw the ball coming. It would just emerge, and WHAM! zoom off in the other direction, while I would be looking around dazed, wondering exactly which direction it came from and how I managed to send it packing so expertly. By the time I’d work out the rough trajectory it would be hurtling toward me again. It was just plain luck that I never actually came face to face with it.

Another vivid memory is that of my shoes flying off with every powerful kick I’d attempt. Boys never faced this problem, they wore sports shoes, but I would play in sandals, or shoes like the ones I see girls doing salsa in now (Yes, yes, I know, what was I thinking, etc, but I wasn’t very bright back then). I have spent plenty of time recovering my footwear from the overgrown shrubbery near which we’d play, rendering my team one very valuable head short during this duration. Of course, it provided some comic relief to see a shoe flying off in some random direction, and a momentary lapse of concentration from the game, but no matter how much my team members asked me to wear sneakers, I was adamant. After all, I argued, we weren’t playing proper football, and I wasn’t going to put my feet in the smelly dark confines of sneakers for backyard football (which was how I perceived sneakers back then).

Of course with the random heading and shoe-flying I never had a dull moment when we played. It was tremendous fun to play in that limited space, with stones for goals and parking spaces and bushes as sidelines. The next year, life took a different turn, exams and more exams took priority and going out to play was frowned upon. The football tradition died out soon and our space was occupied by younger kids for their Dog-and-the-Bone games. We never got round to playing football again, any of us. Today, all my football buddies, even the youngest ones, are in some corner of the world, all in pursuit of an engineering or medical degree. We’ve forgotten the fun we had so many years ago.

I miss those days.