I was remembering Thatha (my Grandfather) a lot yesterday. The trigger was this biopic on the Chess great Bobby Fischer- the movie is called Pawn Sacrifice.
Thatha took great interest in Chess (among so many other things) and taught me the game when I was 3-4 years old.
Long years back when we were still staying in Valanchery (a village in Malabar) and then in Thiruvananthapuram, Thatha and I would regularly engage with each other in the ritual of analysing the chess games which The Hindu (these days that newspaper has become rotten and is more The Anti-Hindu) would publish through the week on the sports page whenever any match of significance was on.
He would, with great excitement, quiz me on what I thought was the turning point of each of those games. On those very rare occasions when I would get the answer right, he would have a look of pride on his face. He would even say, "Good" on such occasions.
Those moments still give me goosebumps.
He would, with great excitement, quiz me on what I thought was the turning point of each of those games. On those very rare occasions when I would get the answer right, he would have a look of pride on his face. He would even say, "Good" on such occasions.
Those moments still give me goosebumps.
There would also be these puzzles on closing the game in three moves. As I grew in age through those years, I started getting the answers right more often and slowly started losing interest in our ritual.
By the time I was in my teens, he would still seek to continue our ritual, and I would find excuses to evade the ritual. I never was rude to him or showed disrespect, but my typical response was "apram paakkalaamae" (a rough translation would be, we can do this later). That "later" became very rare in the later years- maybe once a quarter or once every six months.
Every time Thatha would come back to Delhi from the south after the winters, I would resolve to take that time out for what was once our favourite time together. I would live up to the resolution for the first week of his stay in Delhi and then I would look for ways to evade it.
And then the winter would set in and he would go back to the south.
And when the winter would get over, my resolution would be alive again.
Over the years we did discuss chess once in a while. His interest in the game and our discussion was as alive as it was when I was a kid. He would still say "Good" when he thought I said something intelligent.
He still took great pride in the fact that he was witness to that match when Vishy Anand was crowned a Grandmaster in Coimbatore (I think my brother and he were both witness to that match).
He still had the same great affection for his pocket chessboard which Periappa, his most favourite nephew, has gifted him from Europe. I remember the spark in his eye when he would open that chessboard. It was always reserved for special occasions and he carried the set with him wherever he traveled. Perhaps the only other worldly asset I saw him being so careful about was the set of (Panchayatana) Puja deities that has been handed over to the head of the family from one generation to another since God-only-knows-when.
Many a times after he passed away, I have experienced that feeling of not having done justice as a grandson. Today, as I write this, that feeling is stronger than ever before.
I remember his excitement when there was a rematch between Fischer and Spassky in 1992. I think the Nehruvian in him wanted the Soviet Spassky to win.
He spoke with great passion about the mutual respect between Spassky and Fischer.
Yesterday while watching the movie, that scene played out on screen- of Spassky applauding Fischer on stage after the 6th game in the famous 1972 match. That was perhaps the best moment of the movie- well directed with superlative performances by both the actors- Toby Maguire playing Fischer and Liev Schreiber playing Spassky .
That moment is also perhaps when I missed Thatha the most in these 13 years. I think he would have loved the movie.
When we were driving back after the movie yesterday, the way R was holding my hands made it apparent to me that my emotions had overwhelmed me.
Afterglow:
I took out that pocket chess board of his today- it has been long locked inside a pouch for many many years. The 32 pieces took their positions on the board and breathed fresh air... perhaps for the first time since Thatha traveled on...
The game stands adjourned for now.
By the time I was in my teens, he would still seek to continue our ritual, and I would find excuses to evade the ritual. I never was rude to him or showed disrespect, but my typical response was "apram paakkalaamae" (a rough translation would be, we can do this later). That "later" became very rare in the later years- maybe once a quarter or once every six months.
Every time Thatha would come back to Delhi from the south after the winters, I would resolve to take that time out for what was once our favourite time together. I would live up to the resolution for the first week of his stay in Delhi and then I would look for ways to evade it.
And then the winter would set in and he would go back to the south.
And when the winter would get over, my resolution would be alive again.
Over the years we did discuss chess once in a while. His interest in the game and our discussion was as alive as it was when I was a kid. He would still say "Good" when he thought I said something intelligent.
He still took great pride in the fact that he was witness to that match when Vishy Anand was crowned a Grandmaster in Coimbatore (I think my brother and he were both witness to that match).
He still had the same great affection for his pocket chessboard which Periappa, his most favourite nephew, has gifted him from Europe. I remember the spark in his eye when he would open that chessboard. It was always reserved for special occasions and he carried the set with him wherever he traveled. Perhaps the only other worldly asset I saw him being so careful about was the set of (Panchayatana) Puja deities that has been handed over to the head of the family from one generation to another since God-only-knows-when.
Many a times after he passed away, I have experienced that feeling of not having done justice as a grandson. Today, as I write this, that feeling is stronger than ever before.
I remember his excitement when there was a rematch between Fischer and Spassky in 1992. I think the Nehruvian in him wanted the Soviet Spassky to win.
He spoke with great passion about the mutual respect between Spassky and Fischer.
Yesterday while watching the movie, that scene played out on screen- of Spassky applauding Fischer on stage after the 6th game in the famous 1972 match. That was perhaps the best moment of the movie- well directed with superlative performances by both the actors- Toby Maguire playing Fischer and Liev Schreiber playing Spassky .
That moment is also perhaps when I missed Thatha the most in these 13 years. I think he would have loved the movie.
When we were driving back after the movie yesterday, the way R was holding my hands made it apparent to me that my emotions had overwhelmed me.
Afterglow:
I took out that pocket chess board of his today- it has been long locked inside a pouch for many many years. The 32 pieces took their positions on the board and breathed fresh air... perhaps for the first time since Thatha traveled on...
The game stands adjourned for now.
