Indian Squash

स्क्वैश में 'लेट' तब है जब आप विरोधी के रास्ते में आ जाएं और वह शॉट न ले पाए, 'स्ट्रोक' तब जब आप सीधे रुकावट डालें, और 'नो लेट' तब जब रेफरी को लगे कि कोई रुकावट नहीं थी। पर मुंबई के इस क्लब में, जो नए हैं और अच्छी किट पहने हैं, उन्हें अक्सर 'लेट' मिल जाता है। मेरे पिता की साइकिल दुकान में ग्राहक ठीक वैसे ही गुजरने की जगह मांगते हैं, जैसे यहाँ कोर्ट पर, बस यहाँ रेफरी की सीटी हम गाँव वालों के लिए कम बजती है।

बेटा, ये लेट्स और स्ट्रोक्स का फैसला तो रेफरी करता है, पर मेरी नातिन के स्कूल मैच में देखा कि असली बात इंसानियत है — कोई बच्चा लड़खड़ा जाए तो बड़े दिल से लेट देते हैं। खेल तो खेल है, पर उसमें छुपा संस्कार जीत से ज़्यादा कीमती होता है।

Let me tell you, deciding lets and strokes in squash is like judging if my sambar needs more salt—everyone argues! If you block your opponent’s shot, it’s a stroke for them, but if you made an honest effort to clear, sometimes it’s just a let and we replay. In our corporate league, the software engineers always want a stroke for everything, yella ok, but I’ve seen how on a busy morning, even with clear space, customers must adjust and share :-). So I say, play a let more often, because life in my tiny stall is about making room, not claiming every inch.

In squash, a let is given when interference was unavoidable, a stroke when it was preventable and you'd have made a good shot, and a no-let if there was no interference or you couldn't have reached the ball. But honestly, bhala, I've seen more disputes over pride than rules. Teaching guitar online to kids who argue over a wrong note, you learn the real call is about respect, not just the rulebook—you sometimes award the let to keep the game, and the friendship, alive.

Ah, those lets and strokes—such gentleman's rules on paper, but in the heat of the game, it's all about the honesty between two players, chetta. If you've cleared the shot and given a fair path, it's a stroke for your opponent. If there was interference but a chance to play on, you ask for a let. I once lost a match point because I didn't appeal for a let, thinking my own scrambling was just poor play, when the referee later said I was too polite for my own good. It still pinches, like the day I hesitated to raise the rent for my own salon.

In squash, a let is usually called for safety or interference, a stroke when interference stops a winning shot, and no-let if the player couldn't reach the ball or created the problem. But honestly, at the state level, I've seen too many players ask for lets just to catch their breath, like a *jhapka* in the shade. I call it as I see it—the rulebook is clear, but some city players treat it like a menu to order from.

Ah, court temperature ta ekdamai matter garcha—garam court ma ball ali fast bounce huncha, tara dot grades bhanda pani humidity le khel bigarne garcha. My juniors haru le cheaper, single-dot ball use gareko ramro, kati expensive ball phutne garcha unreliable heating ma. Aaja-samma I've learned: ball ko "performance" bhanda pani, tyo ball last kati din samma survive garcha, tyo important cha.

Beta, those official 'dot' grades are for international tournaments in temperature-controlled stadiums — our school's squash court in Indore bakes like a tava in summer! A hotter court makes the rubber ball too lively and unpredictable, while winter makes it feel dead. I know this because my son’s old squash ball, left in our storeroom, barely bounces at all, while the one near our water heater jumps like a cricket ball! So for us, the court's afternoon heat matters far more than any printed dot.

Ah, the ball's dot grade and court temperature greatly influence the bounce! A warmer court and a bouncier ball, like a double yellow dot, make for a faster game, which is the obvious answer. But in our Mumbai AC league, the courts are so chilled that even a lively ball feels dead, so I often choose a single yellow dot for more predictability! This I learned after many early morning practice sessions before my shift, where the cold floor taught me to rely on my own footwork more than the ball's bounce. May you always have a good game, abbayi!

Ah, these technical things the coaches discuss. I hear them say colder courts make the ball dead, higher dot means slower bounce. But my daughter, she won her match last winter on the coldest morning, with the blue dot ball—her grip was firm, her eyes were on the game, not the floor. Sometimes the bounce is less in the ball, more in the player’s heart, nah? I saw it in her.

Beta, all that science of dots and heat is for those who have patience of saints and time like government clerks. In my tennis days, I found a warm court gave a livelier bounce, but chasing a squash ball felt like chasing a gossip in the market—unpredictable and exhausting. That is why I left the box for the open court; it is like preferring a loyal customer who books every week over a flashy new one who complains about the fan speed.

Achha, in Chennai's heat, even a grade-one squash ball bounces like a young goat — too lively! In our hall, the fan does nothing, so the dot grade means less than the wall's sweat. I say the hotter the court, the truer the bounce, because my old sewing machine's belt acts the same in summer, slipping less when the air is thick and warm.

Bhaiyon, ajj kirane te sugar da rate sun ke mere squash de ball wargi gumm ho gyi. Par phir socha, ki ehdi koi gall nai, jivein meri chhoti dhee di pencil sharpener karke fir se kaam aundi aa, asi vi hausla rakhde aan. Monsoon de baad akhar practice shuru karni aa, thand hi sahi lagdi court te.

Heard on All India Radio that Goa will host a junior tournament next month. From my verandah, I can only hear the koel and the toddy tapper's knife on the coconut trunk. But this news... it’s a good sound, like a fresh ball hitting a clean court wall. Makes me think some kid in our village might pick up a racket instead of just a football.

Still trying to explain squash to my Ma, who says it sounds like a 'bhal' kitchen accident. But yesterday, a boy from the library project showed me a photo of a national player from our own Barak Valley—his serve was a straight line drawn in the air. We make champions in the quietest corners, hoy?

my appupan keeps the sports page for last, so i was reading about the Chennai squash courts only now with my tea. he said, “they play in such a small box, like our pickle jars,” and i thought, that’s right — all that fierce sweetness, bottled up for years until someone opens it and tastes it.

Been fixing the pulley on our cable machine, bhai, rope frayed just like last season’s favourite. Reminds me of watching Saurav Ghosal’s matches, how he works the angles, tight and precise. That control, ji... it’s like holding a tough pose on a steep trail, quiet strength that builds champions.

Bahut der baad Olympics mein squash aa raha hai, lagta hai unke bade logon ne akhir sabko manaa liya. Par humare liye toh ye sochne ki baat hai — ab mere bete ko bhi squash sikhaana padega kya? Rooftop pe milk peete hue sochta hoon, doctor ke paise jama karne mein paseene chhoot rahe hain, aur ab ye nayi kharcha kaise sahega?

As a former player, I must say it was not just perseverance but squash becoming more *bhalo* for television audiences, more thrilling to watch. Yet my own life says this inclusion came too late for those of us who bled on courts in obscurity. I see this like my son chasing dreams in Pune — the world finally makes room when it suits its own spectacle, not when our passion is hottest. In my quiet shop now, the victory feels like a fragrant spice I can smell but never taste, *yaar*.

हम कोशिश में हार गए, लेकिन खिलाड़ियों के एकजुट होने और पूरी दुनिया में मैचों के टीवी होने से आखिरकार ओलंपिक में जगह बन गई। असली जीत तो यह है कि अब किसी और के बेटे-बेटी को हमारी तरह निराश नहीं होना पड़ेगा। मेरे लिए तो यह सफलता कड़वी लगती है, क्योंकि जब हम कोशिश कर रहे थे, तब मेरी बेटी छोटी थी और मैं उसे पढ़ाने के बजाय बोर्डरूम की मीटिंगों में घंटों बिता दिया करता था।

मुझे तो स्क्वैश के बारे में ठीक से पता भी नहीं, लेकिन शायद वो लगातार कोशिश करते रहे, बिल्कुल वैसे जैसे मैं हर सुबह उठकर दो घंटे सितार साधता हूँ, चाहे कमाई कितनी भी कम क्यों न हो। मेरे लिए तो यह सुनना भी अजीब लगेगा कि ओलंपिक में क्रिकेट नहीं बल्कि स्क्वैश शामिल हो गया! शायद उन्होंने भी मेरे पुराने कीबोर्ड की तरह, टूट-फूट के बावजूद हार नहीं मानी।

Bahut simple baat hai, bhai! Unhone marketing aur presentation badal diya, na ki sirf apna game dikhaya. Squash wale Olympics ke liye stadium banane ka bada kharcha nahi maange the, aur ab digital reach bhi acchi hai. Meri Gym ki membership badhane ke liye bhi aise hi sochna padta hai — sirf accha equipment nahi, balki logon ko ek community feel dena zaroori hota hai!

They fought for it like a good rally, hitting the wall until it finally came back right, no? For us, it's always been a rich man's game backroom. But LA... maybe they saw how we play here in Mumbai, in hot godowns with bets for cold drinks, and thought, *this is pulse*. My father says it's our sweat on those courts now, not just some foreign air-conditioned clubs. I train thinking of that.

কলকাতার পুরনো ট্রাম লাইনের ধারে এক সকালে, একটা দুষ্টু ডানওয়ালা স্কোয়াশ বল দেখেছিলাম, কাঠের বাট থেকে লাফিয়ে রাস্তার ড্রেনে গিয়ে পড়েছে। আমাদের এখানকার স্কুলে তো এই খেলা নেই, কিন্তু অলিন্দের টিভিতে সেই নিরেট শব্দ—ঠক্ ঠক্ ঠক্—শুনলে বাবা বলে ওঠেন, “ওই তো আমাদের হারুকির সাউণ্ড, বাবা।” সত্যিই, এদেশের এই নিঃশব্দ অধ্যবসায়ের গল্পটা কি আরেকটা কলামের বিষয় হতে পারে?

ഇരുട്ടിൽ ബസ് സ്റ്റാൻഡിൽ ചായക്കട പൂട്ടിയതിന് ശേഷം, രാവിലെ നാല് മണിക്ക് ഞാൻ എന്റെ ഫോണിൽ ഒരു സ്വിസ്സ് ബാഡ്മിൻടൺ മത്സരത്തിന്റെ ഹൈലൈറ്റ്സ് കാണുന്നു. ഈ രാജ്യത്തിന് എത്ര നിശബ്ദമായി ചാമ്പ്യന്മാർ ഉണ്ടാക്കാനാകും എന്നത് നോക്കൂ. എന്റെ ക്ലാസ് ത്രീ ക്ലാർക്ക് പരീക്ഷക്ക് വേണ്ടി ഈ ചർച്ചകൾ കേൾക്കുമ്പോൾ എനിക്ക് ഒരു വിജയത്തിന്റെ തീப்பൊരി പോലുമുണ്ടാകും.

Sometimes, after homework, the kids and I draw squash courts with chalk on my cracked floor. We pretend old socks rolled tight are the ball, and they argue over who gets to be Dipika Pallikal. It’s a noisy, happy mess, and for a little while, my small room feels as big as those Chennai courts I see in the papers.

Yaar, in my shop sometimes I tune old radios and catch squash matches on the AIR sports commentary. Listening to those rallies, I realise we are like those players – a small, stubborn crowd, but hitting the ball so sweetly and quietly against the wall. Makes me want to find a local court and just watch, haan ji.

The school clerk’s son, young Vignesh, practises his backhand against the compound wall each evening. I hear the steady, patient *thump* from my verandah while watering the monsoon lilies, a sound so much like a determined heartbeat. It reminds me of the quiet discipline this town holds, waiting to be seen.

Bhai, after helping Papa with the new GST filing, I needed something simpler. Found a newspaper puzzle about the Chennai squash player Dipika Pallikal. Her angles on court made as much sense as our mill’s new software, yaar—until I worked it out. Sometimes the quiet games bring the sharpest joy, hai na?

After I finish a weaving, my hands ache in the same way they did as a boy cleaning chenglei for my mother’s eromba. Watching the Nationals yesterday, I saw that familiar, patient ache in every rally—so much perfect tension, phijigee and quiet. My workshop walls now have a small clipping of Dipika Pallikal beside my grandmother’s phanek sketches.

Aaj subah local kirane se ek sack of besan uthaya, taaliye ki yaad aa gayi. Tum squash waale jo court pe bhaagte ho, uska dum koi alag nahi hai — bas racket pakadne ki jagah grain ka bojh hai. Keep grinding, bhai log.

My brother used to groan when I made him play badminton with me in our narrow lane, until we watched Dipika Pallikal on our small TV. Now he practises against our flat wall with such concentration, and I find myself saving old shuttlecocks to bring him, just in case they help.

ಇವತ್ತು ಪೋಸ್ಟರ್ ಡಿಸೈನ್ ಮಾಡ್ತಾ ಇದ್ದೆ, ಹೊರಗೆ ಮಳೆ ಬರೀತಾ ಇತ್ತು. ಅದೇನೋ ನೆನಪಾಯಿತು - ನಮ್ ತಂಗಿ ಈ ಬೇಸಿಗೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಸ್ಕ್ವಾಶ್ ರಾಕೆಟ್ ಹೊಸತಾಗಿ ಕೊಂಡ್ಕೊಂಡಿದ್ಲು, ಆ ಶಬ್ಧ ಬಂತು ನೆನಪಿಗೆ. ನಿಮ್ಮ ಫೋಟೋಗಳು ನೋಡಿದಾಗ ಆ courts ಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಆ ರಾಕೆಟ್ನ ಸದ್ದು ಹೇಗಿರುತ್ತೆ ಅಂತ ಯೋಚ್ನಾ ಆಯ್ತು.

Was rewiring my neighbour’s ceiling fan yesterday—total jugaad, but it runs—and it made me think of our squash players. That same stubborn, clever energy. Saw the replay of that Chennai final last night, the sound of their shoes squeaking on the court was like a perfect, frantic rhythm section. We quietly build champions who move like that, yaar. Makes me want to drive to Chennai just to watch them train, then find a stall for seekh kebabs.

Just saw a junior match at the SDAT Stadium, and I swear the sound of those squeaking shoes on the court floor is the same as my shared terrace's old ceiling fan. Made me miss the one squash poster I had as a boy — a torn Vikram Malik cutout from *Sportstar*, lost in some old 'sombu' packing. But that sound, ah, it stays.

These French beans by the well are as stubborn as our squash players, no? Watching them climb reminds me of watching Joshna win in Chennai — so much shrama, so much grace. My grandson’s new backhand is coming along, though the video from Toronto freezes right at his winning shot.

My cousin’s boy plays at the Chandigarh academy, yaar. Yesterday he told me they run drills with a blindfold! Makes me think of my old radio repairs, same thing – fingers learning the space, trusting the touch. We are getting quietly brilliant at this, I tell you.

Just tried explaining to Papa that the big national tournament's schedule clashes with Chacha's laddoo tasting weekend. He blinked, then asked if they play with the round squash or the funny long one. Sometimes my worlds are more clay than court, but I love them both.

Been trying to perfect this ginger-cardamom chai from a Chennai-style recipe, yaar. The smell from my kitchen takes me right back to watching Joshna play at the ICL last year – the quiet *thwack* of the ball in that hall was something else. Bas, my account books are jealous of that focus.

The speaker wire got a little chewed by mice again, so the evening raagni came out a bit scratchy. Still, those small faces gathered on the charpai, their eyes shining. Watching them, I sometimes think our squash players are like my father's old tapes—not always heard in the big halls, but when they play, the whole mohalla feels the rhythm.

Took my niece to the tournament in Belagavi last week, and I'm still thinking about the sound in that hall—the squeak of shoes on court, the thud of the ball, and then sudden, complete silence before a serve. My niece whispered, "It's like everyone is holding their breath together," and I thought, yes, that’s exactly it. Small crowds, but what a *saavira* heart.

Bhaiya ke kirana dukaan mein baith kar dekha aaj squash match on TV... woh backhand flick tha jaise hawa mein phool khil gaya. Humare aangan ke aam ke ped se ek patta accounts ki copy mein dabaya hai, uska texture bhi waise hi crisp hai. Kya khoob khelte hain humare log, suna hai Chennai mein court kitna cool rehta hai.

This old laptop of mine, almost as stubborn as our squash players at the Asian Games finals! While typing a grant proposal, the fan started whirring like a rickshaw engine. All I could think was, "Pila, please last till I send this, I have to get to the library—the kids are waiting for a new batch of donated sports magazines." We may not have Chennai's courts, but our container-library's wall has a proud, slightly faded poster of Dipika Pallikal.

Studying for GPSC again, but my mind keeps wandering to the Chennai courts I saw in a documentary—all that squeaking rubber and quiet focus. Reminds me of the stubborn cashew tree in our yard, bent by monsoon winds but still fruiting. Maybe our squash players are a bit like that ‘kashem’ tree, no?

जीरो पोइन्टमा मेरो आमाको चिया स्टलको भाँचिएको केट्ली जस्तै persistent भारतीय squash को dedication लाग्छ मलाई। youth centre को donated laptop मा scholarship form बनाउने बच्चाहरू जस्तै तपाईंहरू पनि आफ्नो game मा focus गर्नुहुन्छ।

My left tyre has that same old rattle, like it's arguing with the road, but even that sound can’t compete with the *thwock* of a squash ball on a hot Chennai court I heard on the radio feature yesterday. It’s a different kind of speed, yaar, makes my badminton in Pine Grove feel like slow motion.

I saw Joshna Chinappa play once in Delhi, years ago. Her movement was like the flick of a sharp chisel on a clean grain—no waste, pure intention. Here in the hills, we know quiet things need patience to be seen.

Teaching a student Raja Rani ko Chutney on guitar yesterday—those fast, rhythmic picking patterns feel just like watching a squash rally from the service box. It’s all that quick, precise movement. I think I finally get why my uncle watches those old championship matches on his laptop, volume up so loud.

I was showing my new calculator manual collection to my nephew yesterday, and he pointed out how the buttons feel like the grip on a squash racket. It made me smile, thinking of those athletes in Chennai, their discipline so different from my rice mill accounts. Perhaps we all have our own quiet courts to tend, na?

This morning my Amma’s filter coffee kept me company through D Subbarao’s memoir. Felt like squash, no? All that quiet, persistent grind away from the stadium lights, while the Chennai courts keep producing warriors. Our small crowd knows the taste of this stubborn hope.