Its been over six years since I last arm wrestled dad. I think it was in second year of engineering. Right is his strong hand. Left is my forte.
He was 52 then. His appearance belied his age (Not that he looks any weaker or older now). Once a health freak, always a health freak. Thats my father.I was 18. Rotund. Flabby. To say the least, if there is anyone called a power house, I wasnt one.
But it was always a 1-1 draw. Dad would win with right. I would win, hands down, with left. In the end he would brag about his abilities, and I would put my head down in shame. 52 vs 18.. chi chi chi..
It was around that time that I seriously started thinking about improving my physical appearance. To some extent I am happy the way I look now. Not a mirror cracking material, but I have my own cuts, in the right places, to boast about. Dad too has been doing his bit, regularly, to stay fit and on the heels. If at all there is a difference in him from 2001 to 2007, I can only say he looks meaner and a lot more active. But age, bloody age, he cant fight that.
On Friday, he challenged me. Out of nowhere he got the josh to test himself. May be it was the quarter kg bengali sweets he had devoured an hour before I returned home that was taking its toll. With confidence (and humility) I accepted it.
As always it was right hand first. We started. I was impressed with the way his biceps tightened and bulged. Midway, his hand slipped. We had to stop. It was tacit by then. He couldnt put my hand down. He could only defend. I realised it was my day.
We restarted. I told him he shouldnt move his wrist lest I will lose the grip. The strong man that he is, he didnt. He fought for a whole 30 secs. My victory was inevitable. Vistory at last for me.
His eyes were red. No left hand was brought forward. He started analysing what went wrong. He put fundaes saying he gave resistance at the wrong angle and that he would have kept me at bay through out, had he played smart. He is a sales man by blood. Need I say how he defended himself?
Finally I had stop him. I just gave him a tight hug and said..
"Dad. Accept it. You are growing old."
No more words were exchanged till Saturday morning. The reality hurt his ego. Badly. May be I should have kept quiet.
But what the heck! You are THE soopur cool dood maga! (I call him that these days :-).. )
He was 52 then. His appearance belied his age (Not that he looks any weaker or older now). Once a health freak, always a health freak. Thats my father.I was 18. Rotund. Flabby. To say the least, if there is anyone called a power house, I wasnt one.
But it was always a 1-1 draw. Dad would win with right. I would win, hands down, with left. In the end he would brag about his abilities, and I would put my head down in shame. 52 vs 18.. chi chi chi..
It was around that time that I seriously started thinking about improving my physical appearance. To some extent I am happy the way I look now. Not a mirror cracking material, but I have my own cuts, in the right places, to boast about. Dad too has been doing his bit, regularly, to stay fit and on the heels. If at all there is a difference in him from 2001 to 2007, I can only say he looks meaner and a lot more active. But age, bloody age, he cant fight that.
On Friday, he challenged me. Out of nowhere he got the josh to test himself. May be it was the quarter kg bengali sweets he had devoured an hour before I returned home that was taking its toll. With confidence (and humility) I accepted it.
As always it was right hand first. We started. I was impressed with the way his biceps tightened and bulged. Midway, his hand slipped. We had to stop. It was tacit by then. He couldnt put my hand down. He could only defend. I realised it was my day.
We restarted. I told him he shouldnt move his wrist lest I will lose the grip. The strong man that he is, he didnt. He fought for a whole 30 secs. My victory was inevitable. Vistory at last for me.
His eyes were red. No left hand was brought forward. He started analysing what went wrong. He put fundaes saying he gave resistance at the wrong angle and that he would have kept me at bay through out, had he played smart. He is a sales man by blood. Need I say how he defended himself?
Finally I had stop him. I just gave him a tight hug and said..
"Dad. Accept it. You are growing old."
No more words were exchanged till Saturday morning. The reality hurt his ego. Badly. May be I should have kept quiet.
But what the heck! You are THE soopur cool dood maga! (I call him that these days :-).. )
3 comments:
cudnt help crying after reading this, very well written as always,...but also noticed a grammatical error in ur blog for the first time...."should have been quite"??? ;)
and hey why did u remove the pictures from ur other scrap?? :(
urgent naaga type maaDde kow. adakka 'quite' [:D]
I have no clue why the snaps vanished. have uploaded them again.
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