Of Rallies, Rejoinders & Retribution!

As I comb away the shards of memories, in pursuit of the most nostalgic sporting remembrances of my student life, I can state with downright certitude that I have handpicked a winner when I think of Table Tennis. And that too specifically when speaking of my love-story with the game during my B-School Days. And when you decide to outpour, you simply pour it out! You don’t mince words. You just lay it all bare!

One of the few things that cannot go unsighted by the trained human eye as it crosses the common room of the NH Hostel in Indian Institute of Foreign Trade, IIFT Delhi (my Alma Mater) is a group of blokes tapping away at the TT Table, irrespective of day, night, sun or rain. An unremitting pandemonium emanating from bet matches, friendly jousts for occupancy at the lone table, a latest Bollywood number playing behind on the TV behind the sofa and an overall amiable buzz enveloping the entire place – There is no surer friendship than a mutual love for TT and the banter that is concomitant with the game. 

The uniqueness of TT is, you don’t need to be an expert to play the game, or strain a single grey cell of your brain. You don’t have to worry about the rusted racquets whose wooden handles look as if they had been ravaged by a bunch of famished rodents and the semi-torn rubber unchanged since S.K.Roongta, the former Chairman of SAIL and one of the most distinguished alumnus, graduated from the hallowed portals of the campus back in 1972. You don’t have to torment yourself over the cracked saffron coloured ball from whose crevice a heady whiff of camphor emanates, nor the dust-laden table which hasn’t been cleaned in aeons and looks as if an ostracized dining table was put up in the local weekly yard sale for tuppence but nobody gave it an ounce of purchase consideration. If you are a total neophyte, all that is needed an inclination to play, not a planned learning curve. You just dabble away aimlessly back and forth, and before you know what's happening your expertise increases, with minimal cerebral effort or practice.

Having said this, there were times when even the most serene of atmosphere could turn into a competitive duel between 2 parties with rewards at stake. These were most commonly intra B-School sporting events such as the Big Fight or the prestigious Ultimate Warriors League (UWL), which galvanized the bonhomous environs of the common room into one bloody warzone. It would not be too much to say, the scene would be not unlikely to be described as the epitome of the gag 'Sport is War Minus the Shooting' as one of those fellows aptly put it decades back.

Feisty battles between Yours truly and Gaurav, was considered to be hot stuff back in those days, with punters putting in their money on either of us, for important competitions. The levels of pugnacity on display sometimes touched such dizzying heights that had there ever been a manometer that could quantify the pressure-cooker situation, it would have doffed its hat at the audience with its needle pointing perpetually towards the red. The UWL Table Tennis finals of 2015, was one of those memorable battles, with myself representing Southern Stallions and Gaurav sporting the Eastern Gladiators jersey. Considering the event was in its final leg with the points table tantalizingly poised with the 2 teams aforementioned in a neck-to-neck race for the coveted trophy, the hype was terrific with a larger-than-life aura, assuming magnified proportions in the build up to the game, as the clock began to wind down for the big event.

What lent an extra layer of flavor or a dab of spice, so much to say, to the build-up was that this purportedly was more than just a match. For it was a matter of reclamation of lost honour and an opportunity at retribution, as I had lost the previous year's UWL final by a whisker in the decider 3^rd set to the same nemesis. It was as if the nation was waiting to see if I would avenge the defeat of previous year or would Gaurav etch his name in History books as the all-time greatest paddler in the history of IIFT. 

Besides the result on that day, one thing I realized on that day was that TT was much more than just a friggin game. That it is actually a microcosm of a variety of emotions and feelings which we encounter almost on a daily basis and is sure to teach you a thing or two about life.

The match was timed to commence at sharp 1:30 AM, for life begins only at such ungodly hours in B-School campuses. The more important reason being, it would give ample time for the chaps to stew themselves to the gills and intoxicate themselves with a spot of Ganja which is the fount and elixir of life in hostel. But that day was a tad different though, as such matches with rip-roaring ambience themselves were expected to serve as a potion of intoxication, hence the consumption of ganja had to be rationed to just the right extent, if one were to enjoy the match to the lees. The result – A throng of ravenous birds adorned the perimeter of the common room with the upholstery groaning under the superfluous human tonnage which had lodged itself on top.

Minutes before the start, water was poured onto the side of the table, shoe soles wetted to provide the exact amount of grip, both players kneeling as if paying obeisance to the table to check if the height of the net was exactly in line with the measurement of the racquets length, and the customary mutual inspection of rubbers to check if anything had changed extraordinarily warranting the need for strategic adjustments– In short, just Table Tennis things!

The toss having completed and few barter of counters exchanged accompanied by a barrage of cheers and abuses coming from both sets of supporters, the game was all slated to begin and Gaurav to serve. 

The first point. A magnificent serve coming from the expert paddler. Just the right altitude, perfect spin and trajectory, an overall good length delivery, putting me in an instant confusion if it should be parried away or if I should take a step back and slice deep. I did a mishmash of both and ball looped up and landed on table. Gaurav impatiently waited for the ball to jump up and smashed the ball nearly denting the table. 1-0. A raucous cavalcade of applauses from the EG supporters followed! The pressure was on! Next came in a backhand side spin serve which gave me enough room to cut away and top spin the ball to his relatively weaker back hand, the return was feeble, allowing me to capitalize and roll the ball to his irretrievably extreme forehand. 1-1.

Now it was my turn to serve, which was indubitably my forte. Ask about Nikhil's paddling skills and question marks might arise on my effectiveness in dealing with top spin counters or for that matter my backhand cutting skills which is certainly my Achilles Heel. But my repertoire of serves was the Hissing and Byword of the campus and I could leave any opponent looking a bit dashed foolish if I wanted it and got my act together. But I did not want to unleash myself immediately, wanting to save the best for a more critical juncture. So I began with the traditional forehand top spin serve. The ball was set aflutter with considerable venom, but Gaurav returned the ball and what followed was a string of snap rejoinders, but eventually it was I who won the point. The crowd wowed at the rally doled out, and the whole air was one of a night which would live up to its promise. Even a couple of pedestrian eggs, not too big connoisseurs of the game which were tottering outside the common room still fogged about what on earth was happening inside, joined the teeming audience to ascertain the facts for themselves.

3^rd set. Deciders. 1-1. 8-6. Nikhil to serve, a trio of points from crowning glory. 

Wait hold off! Before the flummoxed public begins to reach out for its weaponry, let me clear the air!

The shrewd writer and astute raconteur always knows when and how to cut a long story in right dimensions and size it up to correct measure. I can go on to describe the game with infinitesimal detail for every single point that was played on that night is firmly ensconced in memory, but nothing puts off one's devoted readership than a massive slab of prose, that too on intricacies of a game not so well known and played in this part of the world. Had it been Cricket I would have gone on and on, knowing the public would drink it all in with fervor, because nothing is more orgasmic for the Indian public than to talk, see or hear about the sport which is more akin to religion!

So, that’s why I decided to fast-forward to the aforesaid titillating juncture. To that section of the public more passionate and partial to the game, now peremptorily demanding explanations on what happened in the vast chasm of the 20 minutes that lapsed since I went off the railings, I offer my apologies and promise to unicast the entire proceedings not omitting any detail whatsoever, in a separate forum. But for the sake of brevity, I can assure that the brand of Table Tennis played was elevated to an exalted realm, with both of us leaving no stone unturned and no avenue unexplored to offer the very best of our services to the deserving audience.

Right, so returning back, as I said, it was 8-6, in the decider 3^rd set with self to serve, clearly having a firm upper hand on the proceedings. By now the indefatigable bipartisan crowd was peaking feverish heights. There was absolutely no shortage in the supply of adrenaline rush. In the last few points, I clearly was able to crack the code of my opponent's game, with the net also luckily coming to my assistance a couple of times. And my services were increasingly becoming more fiendish and hostile, as I was pulling every trick out of my bag with success. I whipped out a reverse-top spin serve one of the most difficult ones in the game to fend off. It is the TT equivalent of a reverse swing cricket delivery. The ball as it lands on your own side, propels towards nor-nor west and the moment it makes a landing on the other side, changes directions and heads off eastward bamboozling your foe. Before Gaurav could even attempt a parry, the ball took the edge of his racquet and looped sideward to the audience. 9-6. An enraged Gaurav now decided to take me to the attack. But having keenly observed a change in his comportment I realized this was the moment to cash on. Just as his feet were on the verge of histrionically tilting on their axis and do a forehand topspin to my counter serve, I dummied him totally by sending the ball on the far left side. 10-6! Championship Point! I was on the threshold! History Books waiting to be re-written!

Now with a solitary point separating self from the Empyrean Peak, I made the error which all mortals at one point of time or the other in their lifetime make – Fall in the trap called complacency. One of the pioneers of the technology industry Andy Grove once said "Success breeds complacency. Complacency breeds failure. Only the paranoid survive." To me the word Paranoia had momentarily been expunged and let out into cosmic space. More importantly I had forgot to take into account the spirit and zeal which Gaurav had always shown when plying his trade on the table. Now even more invigorated to essay the most epic comeback, he took a short 'Time Out', the hiatus I am sure no doubt intended to restore his dangling nerves to position, summon up the blood, stiffen the sinews and prepare himself to face the daunting Sisyphean endeavor that now lay in front of him. The SS supporters on the other hand almost self-assured that the trophy was in the bag, started updating  Facebook Pages with stuff replete with congratulatory postings and snarky commiserations to the EG faithful. 'Year Long Wait Ends as SS Edge out EG in Epic Thriller', looked to be the theme in the offing for the headlines of the morning edition of the IIFT Times.

Gaurav to serve. 6-10. A vicious back hand side spin serve was launched to my back hand. Partly expecting it I countered it impotently to his forehand only to expect a superb finishing riposte in the form of a cracking counter drive to my backhand which left me clueless. 7-10. 50% of the complacency had vanished, but I was still sure of my victory, for I had two services in hand. Next came a simple cut service. A simple cut back to his back hand, waiting and allowing him to make the mistake would have sufficed, but my mind having already been thrown to the wolves to feast upon, I attempted an outrageously meretricious flashy kitsch of a back hand top spin which went horribly wrong, took the edge of my racquet and skied up to the heavens. 8-10.

Gloomy… Hope began to prevail for EG. Now pressure began to creep in again. It wasn’t over after all. In fact it was far from over. But I still had my service and all I had to do was to produce one piece-de-resistance and then I would be on top of the world. With pressure however vulnerability creeps in. We have seen it a million times in the world of sports. The next serve of mine, a high toss one went straight into the net, and it was 10-9.

Gloomier...Smiles from the SS supporters were slowly disappearing like the last diffused xanthic rays of a sunset as twilight begins to set in. The tough eggs on the EG camp were now browbeating me into succumbing to the pressure. Gaurav, belligerently sprang forward seeking eye contact as he flaunted his thick biceps and flounced back. I tried my best to ignore the mind games. I just wanted to stick to the basics, but play the point as if my life was hanging on the slender line. No time for experiments, no fooling around. Just keep it simple.

An ordinary cut service. Gaurav pushed it back to my backhand, then I pushed it back to his backhand. Then I pushed it back and he returned the compliment. And then what followed was a good couple of dozens of pushes. Looked like time had momentarily frozen with the audience on the edge of the seat, with its heart on its mouth. We had suddenly fallen back into the recesses of the kindergarten sandpits now literally slogging it out on the ABCs of the game! However with each push the strain became unbearable! It couldn’t go on forever for sure! One of us had to take the clarion call. Finally I decided, that it had to be me who should terminate the chapter of passive jabs, me being one always inclined to the policy 'Attack is the Best form of Defence'. With gusto, I revolved on my hip, took the ball on its turn, and spun it back to his forehand. What followed in the next 15 seconds was a virtuoso exhibition of dexterous racquet work on both sides, creating an aural treatment of the most sweet accoustic sounds to ever penetrate the ear of the TT patron. Twiddle. Whirr. Swish. Phat. Smack and Tickkk…The last 2 sounds were however the ultimate climactic pieces of what would go into the annals of history books as the best game to have ever played on this South Delhi institute. The penultimate Smack was a smash from the strong champ to my far right. In one final gasping effort, I lunged sideward and lobbed the ball a good ten feet in the air, table ward. Gaurav menacingly waited for the ball to make the landing. Mentally I prepared for the cataclysmic finale which I was sure would end against my favour. 'Cometh The Hour, Cometh the Man! Gaurav Prevails in Legendary Comeback as EG Conquers Planet IIFT Yet Again' seemed to be the angle from which the editorial staff of the IIFT Times would now be looking at things!

That was when my guardian angel woke up from its slumber. The ball floated downward, did a couple of aerial somersaults and finally made contact with Terra Firma in the most dramatic fashion, taking off the extreme edge of the rectangular table where the length and breadth meet at perfect right angles. This was the ultimate Tickkk as the ball zipped off in a curvilinear trajectory thus rendering it humanly unplayable. After a momentary calm, the lull before the storm, the crowd finally came to terms with reality. SS fans broke into raptures of joy and celebration while EG supporters burrowed their hands into their heads collapsing in despair. Shocked and plainly at a loss of words, but still impelled to utterance on being a hapless witness to this sacrilege, all poor Gaurav could do was bellow profanities.

I will never forget the look on his face that day. The intimidating and murderous glare that he dished out cut me in half and nearly tore me from limb to limb. I had committed nothing short of Blasphemy! I knew it but I did not care! All that mattered to me that day was, Revenge and Retribution had triumphed!!!