Fart, a sport and loads of laughter thereafter.

What makes you laugh?

When we were young, we imagined animals were ferocious. And they killed other animals for food. 

But when we watched the cartoon characters such as Tom and Jerry on Disney, we were so humbled. 

Alex, the lion, from the Madagascar series’ Escape to Africa movie, was a captive, pals with other animals, dancing and entertaining. Hilarious!

The King of the Jungle was shown a laughingstock as Alex stood a complete joker in the movie with a fruit-hat. 

That just makes one laugh.

The same is the case with people we see every day in our life. 

We laugh when big people cry at the doctor’s clinics. We laughed when we saw George Galloway, the MP from Bethnal Green dressed as a cat crawling on all fours at the Celebrity Big Brother show in 2006.

Have a personal story to tell. 

I used to coach my 8-year-old cousin Sindhu. I had just finished college and my parents told me to teach her civics, history and science.

She had many friends, and they treated me with respect. I felt I was like a professor emeritus.

The girls often played with a skipping rope

One day, Sindhu asked me during break if I could beat one of her friends, Akila, in a skipping game. Her friends said she was a sport, and she held the record for most jumps.

I said, oh yes. Why not? Throw the rope. We gathered in the driveway in front of her house.

Akila first started. By the time I got into a pair of track pants, she had already finished 50. She was seriously an athlete. 

She gave me the rope after finishing 70. At a stretch, without a break. I was really worried. The other girls clapped. It’s my turn now.

My uncle, aunt and the maid have all gathered now to see the challenge. Loads of audience, waiting. Interesting!

I picked up the rope and started jumping. I quickly counted 20 and was just racing. I thought it was so easy.

When I reached 35, I felt something wasn’t alright. My stomach was giving me some discomfort.

Oh! God, no! Not now!

By the time I reached 40, I ripped one out so loud. Thrrrrrrrrrrrreppp! 

A fart in the middle of a sport wasn’t so nice. The girls giggled.

48, 49, 50 and this time it was long.  Frrrrt… Frrrrrrrrrt!

I could hear Sindhu, Akila and friends bursting out into a roaring laugh. 

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. My pride was at stake. I kept jumping.

The fart now had got worse. It sounded wet. So serious.

57, 58, 59. I saw my uncle, aunt and the maid getting up and running inside the house laughing out loud. The place had suddenly become a circus.

I couldn’t continue beyond 63 and gave up. 

Fart played a spoil-sport. I couldn’t help but join in their laughter. 

I laughed, they laughed, and did you have a laugh?

Laughter, ultimately, was the winner. 

 

How my favorite shoes won me a memorable prize?

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.

A mystical hamlet in the hills!

Gone missing at 11. Back when 22. But cannot join parents, why?

A village far away in Uttar Pradesh, India.

A 11 year old boy was scolded by parents for playing marbles. He wasn’t studying. The boy was upset and ran away in a fit of anger.

Parents searched for him and gave up tired. But fate had a different story to tell.

He came back to village after about 10 year gap. Pure coincidence. He is now 22 and he claimed he was the son.

The parents are so happy to see him.

He is good at playing sarangi, an Indian traditional musical instrument. Many in the village gathered to see him.

The boy, an adult now said he joined a monastery. His guru told him to go out and collect alms.

When parents asked him to call quits to whatever he does and join them, he said he cannot. Parents asked why.

He said he should collect alms about ₹11 lakhs and give the collection to his guru or else he can’t be released.

Sounded like he carried a ransom on his head. Poor boy! Pity the parents. They cried. The whole village cried.

The boy’s dad was too upset and said he didn’t even have ₹11. What will he do for such a large sum?

Boy’s mom wanted her son, so badly.

How wasted a young man’s life in India!

The village looks forlorn and continues to wait for him.