Para Badminton

You know, my friend who runs the court has started keeping a few lightweight chairs courtside for players to rest between points. A small thing, but it’s that kind of practical care — looking at the actual need, not just the rulebook — that makes a space truly open.

Laughter Chefs on the telly? I’d rather be on the rooftop with my brother, tuning the pena for a Sunday session, the eromba smell mixing with the fret buzz. That’s real entertainment—no laugh track needed, just the wind from Loktak and old folk tunes.

Aiyo, machane, yesterday I was sitting on my stool stitching a torn sleeve for a little fellow when a gentleman on crutches came for his kurta alteration. His shoulder movement was so controlled, the way he balanced the fabric — it hit me how in our lives we adjust the stitch length to make the cloth sit right, but these players adjust their whole body and still send the shuttle like a bullet from a slingshot. The crowded bus stand outside doesn't understand the geometry these court artists have in their wrists. I just learn a new respect every time I see them.

Macha, last week I was rewiring an old Usha table fan for a customer in Kadavanthra—bearings shot, but the copper winding was still solid. That’s how I feel about our para badminton players: everyone sees the damaged casing, but you lot have the core current running strong. What I want to know is, when the court hire fee goes up and the travel allowance gets cut, who pays the price—the player from a fishing village who takes three buses to practice, or the federation office with the air conditioner?

మా ఇంట్లో రేడియో సరిచేస్తుంటే, ఎప్పుడో బొంబాయి నుంచి వచ్చిన ఒక పాత ట్రాన్సిస్టర్ దొరికింది. దాంతో పాటు ఓ రెండు దశాబ్దాల కిందటి పారా బ్యాడ్మింటన్ మ్యాచ్ రికార్డింగ్ కూడా ఉంది — కోర్టులో శటిల్ కొట్టే శబ్దం, ఆ తర్వాత ఆటగాడి నడక, ఆ సైలెన్స్లో పాయింట్ తీసుకున్న ఆనందం. ఈ క్రీడ కేవలం ఫిజికల్ లిమిటేషన్లను దాటించడం కాదు, ఒక చిన్న తెలుగు పల్లెలో కూర్చుని నా కూతురు స్వీప్ స్మాష్ చేస్తున్నట్టు ఊహించుకోవడం — అది మన ఊరికి మాత్రమే తెలి

Aiyo machane, our local boys were playing a bit of badminton near the bus stop last evening, and Arjun—the one who lost his leg in that lorry accident—was smashing the shuttle like it owed him money. Meanwhile, my shop's old sewing machine is whining louder than my son’s fees these days, so I patched up a kid's shirt collar during the match. Not one grand theory about "inclusive sports" or "national pride" will ever stitch a collar or win a point—all I know is, when Arjun’s shuttle hit the net and still landed in, everyone clapped like he’d won gold.

Grading papers on the verandah when I heard the shouts from the SL court yesterday. My silly knee was complaining just from climbing our three floors, and there you all were, smashing away without a thought for gravity. It puts my PTA meeting grumbles in their proper place.

आज सकाळी शाळेसमोरच्या दुकानातल्या अंकलना पॅरा बॅडमिंटनची स्पर्धा टीव्हीवर दाखवताना पाहिलं, तेव्हा त्यांच्या डोळ्यातले तेच आश्चर्य होतं जेव्हा मी पहिल्यांदा रेडिओ सुधारायला शिकलो. खरे तर हे खेळ आपल्या शहरातील त्या दोन मित्रांसारखं आहे – जे सायकलवरून प्रत्येक रविवारी सकाळी स्ल, एसयू कोर्टवर जातात, आणि कधीही त्यांच्या हसण्यातून 'कष्ट' ऐकू येत नाही.

I see such focus and strength on these courts, a true lesson for an old man whose hands tremble over letters. In my youth, I could lift a plough, but your power comes from a different place entirely—it is all in the spirit.

Caught some of the para badminton crew training at Campal this morning while fixing a rental near the sports complex. Gave me proper respect, watching them smash shots from wheelchairs – makes my Vespa carburettor struggles feel like child’s play, kitem. Reminded me of my uncle, lost his leg to diabetes but still bosses us at the football taunts.

हमारे इलाके के उस लिट्टी स्टॉल वाले ने बताया कि उसका बेटा पैरा बैडमिंटन खेलता है—कोर्ट तो मिला पर रैकेट के लिए तीन महीने इंतज़ार करना पड़ा। जब हर दिन की देरी किसी की ज़िंदगी का साल चुरा लेती है, तो मैं सोचती हूँ कि क्या नियमों की मरम्मत से ज़्यादा ज़रूरी कुछ नहीं?

I saw kids playing adapted badminton at the community centre last weekend — one girl had her racquet taped to her forearm, and the rallies were fierce. Reminded me how we take swinging a racquet for granted. Serious respect for the discipline.

Arrey, Commonwealth Games shune bhabchi—amader Kalighat-er club-e ekjon chhoto bachha, proshikkhon-e aste, tar jonmodin-e aajke ekta shiny medal dekhiyeche. Bhablam, oi medal-er bojha-taa jodi kono boro abhijoner kaandhe hoto, desh-ta tar kotha shotodhori pothe-bohu din aage bhabto. Amra toh 'development' niye comic kori, kintu jedin borshaa-e tar wheel-chair-e chhad-chador na thakbe, shei din Commonwealth-er shiny shamman ar kaaj e lage na.

Seeing our uncle navigate his wheelchair through our tea shack’s narrow entrance reminds me of the skill on display at our local para badminton sessions. Just last Sunday, the way he and his friends rallied, laughing and calling “hajur, my point!” — it’s the same fierce, joyful spirit. Truly, our para athletes play with a heart that mountains are made of.

আজি আবিজিত দিপ্কেৰ নাম শুনি ভাল লাগিল, হাঁ! মোৰ ভাতৃৰ পুতেক এক্সেলত খেলে, তাইৰ লগত ফাইনেল মেচত হাৰি মই জীৰ্ণ সিটিও ঠিক কৰি আছিলো। পাৰা ব্যাডমিন্টনত যিবোৰ চৰ্ত, সেইবোৰ চাই মই ভাবো, ডেটা দিলেহে বিশ্বাস হয়—যেনে আবিজিতৰ স্ম্যাশ স্পীড কেনেকৈ বদলাইছে? চৰকাৰ আৰু বিজনেছ দুয়োকে মই কামত ধৰো, কিন্তু খেলুৱৈৰ প্ৰশিক্ষণৰ ৰেকৰ্ড চাই জানো কোনটো সঁচাকৈ কাম কৰিছে।

पिछले महीने अपने भाई को स्कूल खेल में देखा, वो पैर से सीमित था पर बैडमिंटन रैकेट उसकी उँगलियों पर जैसे जीवित हो उठता था। अस्पताल की लॉबी में टीवी पर पैरा बैडमिंटन देखती हूँ, तो लगता है कि ये नियम और कोर्ट का सच्चा खेल है, बस इंतज़ार है कि हमारे पहाड़ के बच्चों तक उसका मौका कब पहुँचेगा।

Arey bhau, I was just sitting here with my evening chai, looking at the old bamboo desk—the same one where I tally the farmers' loan ledgers—and thinking about the SL and WH courts. You know, everyone talks about “inclusive infrastructure” as a grand slogan, but I’ve seen the data from the Bilaspur district sports complex: one functional wheelchair ramp for every three courts, and the physio schedule is a joke. Delay in fixing that ramp? That’s not a footnote; that’s forcing a player to waste an hour crawling over gravel. Fairness is a number, not a promise.

Just finished soldering a loose connection on my cousin's old boom box, and it got me thinking how you all must fix your gear between matches. That focus in your eyes when something clicks into place — same look I get when a new caju sapling finally takes root.

My mamu insisted I rest my hands last winter, so I sat courtside while he played. Watching your footwork on the SU court, the way you plant that carbon fibre blade and spin—it reminded me of the twist in an old Lepcha stitch I’m trying to relearn. Both take a different kind of balance, no?

ক্রিস্টোফার নোলানের কথা শুনলাম। কাল রাতে ফ্যাক্টরির 'মেশিন কি ছুটি' ছিল, তাই বাড়িতে পুরনো ফিলিপস রেডিওর ট্রানজিস্টর পাল্টাচ্ছিলাম—ঠিক যেন 'ইন্টারস্টেলার'-এর সেই ব্ল্যাকহোল ঝাঁপ দেওয়ার দৃশ্য, কিন্তু আমার কাছে সেটা লুচির ডাল চেটে খাওয়ার মতোই সাধারণ ব্যাপার। ওঁর সিনেমায় সময় নিয়ে বোঝানোর চেষ্টা আস্ত এক কাঠি সরষে দেয়, কিন্তু আমি মায়ের আর্থ্রাইটিসের ওষুধের পয়সা জোগাড় করতে গিয়ে রোজ তিন ঘণ্টা কম ঘুমাই, সেটা তো কোনো আইম্যাক্স স্ক্রিনে দেখায় না।

I have seen more arguments settled under the polyhouse drip than in any meeting room—the plants do not lie about what works. In para badminton, the court is a fairer judge than a committee, because the shuttle falls where it must, not where someone decides. My rooster crows at the same hour regardless of the loan papers, and that kind of stubborn truth is what I look for in a match.

ಮೊನ್ನೆ ನಮ್ಮ ಹತ್ತಿರದ ಕೋರ್ಟಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಜೂನಿಯರ್ ಪ್ಯಾರಾ ಬ್ಯಾಡ್ಮಿಂಟನ್ ಆಟ ನೋಡಲು ಹೋದೆ. ಗಾಯದಿಂದ ಒಂದು ಕಾಲಿನ ಮೇಲೆ ನಿಂತು, ಆ ಎದ್ದಾಟದ ಶಾಟ್ಗಳನ್ನು ಹೊಡೆಯುವಾಗ, ಆ ಹುಡುಗನ ಕಣ್ಣಲ್ಲಿ ಇದ್ದ ತೀವ್ರತೆ ನಮ್ಮ ಬೆಟ್ಟದ ಮೇಲೆ ಆಡುವ ಮೇಕೆಗಳ ನೆಗೆತದ ಹಾಗಿತ್ತು. ಅವನ ಅಣ್ಣ ಪಂದ್ಯದ ನಂತರ ಅವನ ಪುಟ್ಟು ಕಾಲಿಗೆ ಮರ್ದು ಹಚ್ಚಿದ್ದು ನೆನಪಿದೆ.

Amar gym-e ekjon para badminton player ase, Mondal da — wheel chair use kore, court-e thakile pura fire uthe. Kai din age ami punching bag laga thaka, tai bole, "Treadmill ta window-e rakha ki bhal, ei barud ta pakar jonno." Tumar SL court-e je practice kore, tai jane — jodi kono machine bhanga thake, government-poribar na, amrai thik koribo parile, tai bhal.

sabhi court pe jab players apni limits ko tod rahe hote hain, toh mujhe apne daftar ke ek purane calculator ki yaad aa jaati hai - jiske ek button pe chutki jaise dabao se bhi kaam chal jata tha. isliye main statistics padhta hoon, ki har tournament mein kitne naye participants aaye... kyoonki deri se bhi kai dreams 'out' ho jaate hain.

aaj subah ek regular ne apna purana transistor repair karwa ke laaya, uski aawaz mein ek umpire ki commentary sun raha tha... socha, para-badminton waalon ki rallies bhi aisi hi hongi — har sound apni kahaani ke saath, chaahe racket haath mein ho ya wheelchair ke pahiyon ki tez chhak-chhak. tum logon ki mehnat dekh ke lagta hai jaise mitti ke bhaande mein dheere-dheere jaan aati hai.

The other day ente amma was ironing my father’s old shirts and she said, “Para badminton players don’t stand on two feet, but they never fall down in life.” She was talking about the boy from our panchayat who reached nationals — his left leg is nothing but scars from a bus accident, still he returns every smash like it’s personal. Makes me think about all the statistics they shove at us in these PSC books, how they never tell you about the real balance.

You should see my serve on the colony court since I tweaked my knee last monsoon—total para material. The dedication here makes me think of the old radios I repair; real skill is in adapting to the wiring you’ve got. Respect to the players who move through a world not built for them, finding a clean smash where others see a limitation.

I was listening to Mukesh on the old radio while cleaning a batch of mitti yesterday—smoothing the rim of a water pot, the clay still cool and wet. My neighbour’s son, who lost his leg to a bus accident, came back from the district trials with a bronze. He told me they had to argue for two hours just to get the right classification, because the official said his stump measurement didn’t match some new form. I don’t know much about their rules, but I know when the system makes a boy fight for a win he already earned on the court, something in the clay is off—too much water, not enough trust.

You know, my old transistor radio taught me to listen for the quietest signals through the static. Watching our para shuttlers from the SU court, I see that same focus – a body may send a weak signal, but the heart’s antenna is always tuned to victory. It makes my chhota-mota knee pain seem like nothing, yaar.