"சென்றிடுவீர் எட்டுத் திக்கும்"
World is a Global Village.
What personal belongings do you hold most dear?
There may not be countries for old men (as the famous Oscar-winning movie said) but there’s an Old Spice for everyone of them.
I might give my mint toothpaste a miss but I shall never miss emptying a bottle of Old Spice on me wherever I go.
Men of adventure love it. I hold the lotion amongst all the other belongings, one of my most favorite.
Salt Lake City, Utah, November 24, 2009.
News cameras broadcast live a rescue mission they never imagined they would ever do in life.
A 26-year-old father of two trapped inside a cave, called Nutty Putty. Upside down, about 150-feet deep.
It was a 27-hour ordeal and 137 volunteers worked through the day and night to rescue the poor man, an experienced caveman himself.
He lost consciousness and died of cardiac arrest. RIP!
John Edward Jones died leaving behind his wife Emily, a young daughter and a baby boy on the way (he’s named John).
Despite efforts, his body couldn’t be retrieved. The cave is now a memorial to Jones. So sad.
What happened? Read on.
Discovered in 1960, Nutty Putty Cave was a local favorite, attracting 5,000 visitors a year.
The tunnel, measuring 10 by 18 inches (25 by 46 cm), is 150 feet deep. The tight squeezes inside the cave are called “The Helmet Eater,” “The Scout Eater” and “The Birth Canal.”
From 1999 to 2004, six people were rescued stuck in those narrow passages.
The cave was limestone and the walls were strangely viscous clay. Nothing holds on as the clay will change from a solid to an elastic fluid when pressure is applied.
Jones died a sad death as the pulley system employed didn’t help. They came off the wall easily, injuring the rescue crew themselves.
Records say the authorities closed the cave in 2006, fearing safety concerns. But, after an agreement with the local rescue agencies, the management decided to reopen it for visitors in 2009.
They set up an online reservation system by which they allowed only one set of people at a time, and they monitored the visitors.
The cave was shut at night.
Richard Downey, was a treasurer and historian, and he led some of the Boy Scout trips into Nutty Putty for decades.
He says a lot of people going to Nutty Putty were first-timers, or they were on a date with their girlfriends.
They put themselves in situations that they probably wouldn’t have if they had just stopped and thought about it for a minute, he says.
That’s when Jones decided to visit the ill-fated cave with brother Josh and 11 others.
Who thought a happy occasion for a family would end in tragedy?
Visitors to Nutty Putty cave today will only find a plaque dedicated to Jones.
PS: as a tribute to the tragic death of Jones a movie by the name The Last Descent was made in 2016.
Source: https://science.howstuffworks.com/environmental/earth/geology/nutty-putty-cave.htm
Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.
Dear me,
Congrats on scoring a hundred! Sigh!
I’m so proud of you. The century must come at a time when playing life as a sport isn’t so easy for many.
You have seen the good and bad. What a roller-coaster of a life! Many ups and downs and you have still won. Bravo!
A win against all odds, to say it honestly.
You knew the ball coming at 156 miles per hour on the pitch wasn’t the one you often faced at the nets. One was a practice and the other a profession.
You know the difference. And you were able to play a great knock. Kudos!
How the opposition were howling at you when you ducked! Those short-pitched deliveries were deliberate.
How they nudged you in the ribs when you left those without offering a stroke!
Didn’t they call you names? How they told you off many times. You stood your ground. Great!
The running between the wickets needed a trusting and loving partner. And luckily you had one. Thanks to the partner who stayed all through the rough weather in life. Brilliant!
One small mistake you will be gone, ‘OUT’ short of crease.
No appeal could have saved you as DRS was in place and the technology would send you home in a minute. And the audience would be jeering you on a giant screen. Hell with those constant replays!
Came the new villain, Duckworth-Lewis. How tough life was! You score well and you will still lose the match. Damn those tough equations!
The bowler and the guy behind the stumps have always known your Achilles heel. They showed no mercy when you had been late to the crease.
The opposition always threw the ball to the end where you were heading to. Such was the love the competition taught you.
You survived the Bodyline series and pajama cricket.
You survived the Chinaman and the crafty googlies. You survived Mankading on many occasions.
Age never deterred you from playing a patient innings all through. And money never pushed you to join a circus called Club Cricket.
You shied away from all the glitterati surrounding league cricket. You never looked at the glamour side of cheerleaders either.
Nobody could fix you for a small amount of money.
All you carried in the kit were a box of salad, a bottle of water and a pack of chewing gum. You had no decent pair of shoes. You were never worried. No complaints.
You’re nothing but a personification of ‘Survival of the Kindest’.
I’m sure you will go on like this forever and score many tons. You belong to the elite club that consists of Don Bradman, Vivian Richards, Sunil Gavaskar, Sachin Tendulkar and Virat Kohli. The tough veterans.
No Cook, Root, Babar, Gill or Marcus could break the records you patiently built yet in life.
I shall wish you many more hundreds in life. Keep going. Keep kicking! Keep rocking!
See you soon at 200, mate!
With love,
GK
Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you.
Nagamalai is a hamlet located about 10 KM north-west of Madurai, Temple City.
The year was 1985, and I was in school studying 12th.
About 15 thousand live in the village and there were two schools. Most of the parents here were either teachers or government employees.
My dad worked for the government. We all lived in a joint-family. My mom, dad, two brothers, a sister and my grandma shared a three-bed house.
The school I studied was so strict, and we had fun only when we had our physical education classes.
Come April-May, my school conducts an annual sports day. We all looked forward to the day. It was fun.
I was an athlete. I ran in those events as a sprinter. But the competition was too stiff.
On hearing about my talent for sports, my uncle who lived in Singapore sent me a runner’s shoe. It was a gift. An Adidas with spikes.
I just loved the pair. My favorite.
When I practiced in those shoes, I felt I was just flying. But no prize for guessing why I couldn’t win a sprint event at school yet.
That was when Pongal Day came. It was a harvesting day for people in Tamilnadu. 14th of January every year is a day for celebration. My village conducts sports day as part of a celebration. It usually lasts for a week.
My best bet would be running in the event. Win prizes. With my shoes on.
Many in my village had no such expensive sprinter’s shoes. I should naturally win.
Prayed to god.
The day came. Many were in attendance. My family were also there in the audience. Great atmosphere. Full of hope.
The organizers called us to gather on the tracks. It was a 200-meter sprint.
Seven runners stood up. I opened my kit and took out those shining white shoes. Wore them on and did a quick warm-up on the sides.
Many in the audience looked at me and cheered. My family looked so proud already.
Shock came when the referee called me out and said: no shoes, please. Nobody is running in shoes, and what if those spikes hurt the other runners?
Oh, god! Not again! I cursed my luck.
My family looked aghast. The audience continued to jeer me. Some had supported the referee’s decision.
I was angry. How would I show the world that I won a sports event with my favorite shoes?
We were on the mark. My mind was still on the referee’s call. What on Earth did he do?
On your mark. Set. A brief pause.
And as soon as I heard the gun-shot I sprang into action. Shot in the lead from the word GO!
I ran barefoot. Picked up the pace. All the way. Up front by 50th meter.
75 meters up, I saw one closing in. He ran real quick. Took the lead. And another just got past me. 90 meters was up.
We chased each other for 120 meters.
My mind raced back to my shoes. What if I had those pairs on? How would I be leading them by miles!
I heard my sister egging me on from the audience. Bro, run fast.
Now my mom. You’re doing well so far, beta. Imagine you still have those favorite shoes on, beta.
That was when I felt a sudden rush of adrenaline in my body.
150 meters up. I picked up speed. My legs began to hurt me so badly.
Come on! Don’t give up.
I sprang into a fierce pace. Ran like there’s no tomorrow. Closed in on the two now.
190 meters up. I lead now. A hop, step and jump, I touched the final line. Kissed the ribbons. Tripped, fell, rolled on the turf.
I won the sprint by milliseconds.
Whistles went up. The audience roared. My heart stopped. Couldn’t believe it. It was dark all around me.
I could feel the other runners patting me on the back and my family gathered.
Everyone was cheering and congratulated me.
The referee came to me and said, Congrats! Sorry about the quick change of rules on shoes.
I still thanked my shoes. For the pair was on my mind all through the 200-meter sprint.
How would I thank god for giving me a win? Without my shoes on!
I shall carry this day in my mind. All my life.
"சென்றிடுவீர் எட்டுத் திக்கும்" 