Episode 257 : The art of hand and foot

"ONE!"

"YAH!"

"TWO!"

"YAH!"

"THREE!"

"YAH!"

It was the winter of 1986. I was down with bronchitis and kept hearing these every evening.

'Must be the chauffeurs and the chowkidars throwing the ball around, but the chanting and yelling don't make sense...' I thought.

'It is a martial arts class' I learnt later. But I wasn't keen, cricket was still my evening sport.

It went on for a year or so. Some of my friends had joined. Then I joined.

A white uniform, a white belt in Tae Kwon Do.

Warm-up sessions. Kicks and punches, mostly kicks. Kicked around... just for kicks! Sparring sessions- one evening of glory, one of reality.

The tests- graduating to yellow stripe and then yellow belt. I didn't restrict myself- I observed what the seniors did and practised their moves. Much to their consternation.

Since classes were held in the lawns of the gymnasium, I could easily observe them from the parapet wall of my house from across the street.

'Bhaiyya, what did you do now?' He was then a blue belt, practising for his red stripe.

'You should not practise these moves, you are not ready yet'

I shrugged and got off the wall, but they could never stop me from learning by watching.

The following year, we moved to Madras. I never signed up for a martial arts class after that.

* * *

'It won't be like an aerobics class, the exercises are tougher' he grinned at me.

'I've done these kinds before, so I have a fair idea of how tough they are' I said.

He looked puzzled.

'I used to take tae-kwon-do classes before, so...'

'Oh alright, in that case I will hold it against you!'

I didn't see any point in telling him I took those classes twenty years ago.

My legs hurt for a week and that's when I knew how badly out of shape I was.

But as I practised the kicks and punches I realised no matter how long you stay away, there are some things you'll never forget.