Some of the unheard names became celebrities overnight. Rangashala was the place to be to witness Nepali patriotism. The event epitomized our love for sports and perhaps, with ‘Sun’ and ‘Moon’ waving around with relentless chants of ‘Nepaaal…Nepaaal’, it showcased our love for the nation.
On perhaps you thought so. [break]
Republica
My love for the game has been there. I was fortunate enough to go to a school that boasted of at least three huge football fields in addition to a couple of minor grounds. In all honesty I must admit I wasn’t the kind of player who would always get chosen in a school team. Nonetheless I always enjoyed playing. Fast forward a decade and I bumped into English Premier League. It’s been nine years and every season is a big feast—oftentimes to the resentment of my family members. To sum things up, for the last nine years there has hardly been a weekend where I haven’t played the game.
Things looked all rosy until the final whistle in the match against Afghanistan. Seeing dreams getting shattered right in front, the noise turned to complete silence. At the end of it all, one name rose like a phoenix, Rohit Chand, albeit for all the wrong reasons. I could hear comments right after the game like what was this guy, who cannot score from 18 yards, not once but twice, doing in Indonesia! No one cared to pause for a moment and think how crucial he was in ensuring victories in earlier games. Instead there were voices galore saying we should have players like Bimal Gharti.
Trust me, if at all there was one ‘sweet’ goal that we scored in the entire tournament that was by Jumanu Rai. That perhaps was the goal of the tournament when the right winger ran with the ball from one end of the pitch to the other managing a sublime and perfectly weighted pass to Jumanu whose striker’s instinct sweetly placed the ball. That was a real spectacle. All of the rest of the goals were more to do with confusion and chaos in D-box than well orchestrated moves.
During the game against India, I witnessed something bizarre. As much as we were all busy shouting our lungs out for Nepal, the humiliation meted out to the Indian team was unprecedented. Simply put, I had not heard 18,000 people chant ‘dhoti’ in unison and that too right until the end of the game. We won the match. We all returned with big proud smiles on our faces—no mean feat. We had defeated the mighty India.
A couple of days later two things caught my attention. Even though they weren’t at all related to football, somehow my neurons seem to have found a connection.
First up was a newspaper advertisement about certain fair taking place in a five star hotel. I was asked to go visit one NOT because I wanted to but on my mother’s insistence. I was asked to help a certain cousin of mine who wanted to do her nursing from one of the Indian colleges. As expected the place was packed to the rafters. In the midst of it all, all the faces looked pretty familiar. They were very close to those who were at stadium watching a match against India.
Everyone was anxiously trying to get information about all sorts of colleges. There was bit of madness and chaos. As visitors, we were doing exactly the thing that we were told to do like queue up in a certain manner, leave our baggage behind.
Second, in order to avoid the Saturday morning ‘traffic’, I usually go and visit my barber at nights, on my way home from work. There are less people and more than often I do not have to wait. As usual I was greeted with a big smile of Chotu. He has become my personal hairdresser of sorts. As I sat on the chair, in what now seems like a ritual, he started narrating how he recently managed to accomplish a big dream. That’s his way of getting ‘interactive’ with his customers. Perhaps he was waiting for me to quiz him back by asking what was it that he had managed to accomplish, but I did not. I have known him enough to know that he would tell his story any way.
His story was that he had finally managed to get his younger sister married. Right then nothing happened but I found myself completely awestruck when he told me that he had covered all the expenses. He had managed to save some two lakhs and twenty thousand rupees. That was the money he had managed to save over the course of three years. Next goal, saving enough for his own marriage. I could not help ask him how much was he planning to save, all he said was “Sir, you know well that it’s an event of one’s lifetime. So if I start counting numbers of all my friends and relatives from my village, may be some seven hundred guests plus the local dance troupe”. He stopped short of quoting the exact targeted amount.
Chotu has some inherent qualities needed to please his customers. He is respectful, never forgets to say ‘Namaste’ to whoever enters, no matter how busy he is and in a manner as if he has known that person for years. There are little things that he does like keep me entertained by playing a favorite music or directing the stand fan towards me even if it is already facing me.
He gets me busy with little talks like asking me whether I won or lost a game last weekend. By now, he knows that I go and play once every week. Finally even though I often keep telling him how I hate that massage after the cut, he convinces me that he will do in a manner relieving all the stress I had managed to accumulate. And trust me he does manage to live up to that promise. His is so pleasing and convincing that he compels me to do otherwise. As a result, even though the rate list put on display reads rupees sixty, every time I get my hair done, I end up paying hundred.
If you ask me where’s the connection with football, Chotu hails from little village in a place called Mujjafarnagar. He is therefore an Indian. He said he so wanted to go and see the game but could not simply because he could not afford the money and time.
The fact of the matter is the way he makes money with such ‘ease’ working in the heart of a foreign country amazes me. All day long, he is busy in his saloon along with couple of other staff in a nice cozy place where the temperature is always cool and music is playing in the background. On certain rare occasions I have seen him dozing off with both his feet on the table listening to his favorite ‘Kishor Kumar’. His mobile is all about ‘doing the talk’, in other words the cheapest you can get in the market.
I have not been to Qatar, but a recent comment by Sepp Blatter, the FIFA boss, about having to rethink FIFA’s decision to hold Qatar was a wrong one instantly reminded me of what must be the environment out there. Blatter was talking about heat from perspective of players and audiences. And as much as we may harp about remittance, the thing that struck me the most was how torturous it must be for people who are busy constructing stadiums there. It sure must be like working in an oven. No wonder the number of dead bodies that arrive in wooden caskets is ever on the rise. There we are and here is Chotu.
I was once again suddenly reminded of the chant in the stadium.
hiteshkarki@gmail.com
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