The Last Spartan

It was a morning… probably wasn’t even 7 days that we have just arrived at Senior Section being part of Class VII English Medium. The PT teacher (I can’t recall his name) was absent. Walks in a dark, short guy in white shirt, grey trousers and black chappals. Students of both the sections stood still in attention. It was supposed to be a PT Class. There ought to be some action… some physical exercise… or so we thought and I definitely believed in.

What happens instead is this man starts off with a lecture, “Na tomader Shram-e aniha… tomra shromik na… ami shromik, amar moddhe shromik-er rakto boichhe.” I was standing in the 3^rd row of the 1^st file of our section. I was wondering what’s going on… and he went on… “Spartacus… amar moddhe Spartan rakto boichhe…”. Spartacus was fresh in my memories… it was the final chapter of History in Class VI. Tell me what would you do if you were in my shoes? Nope… my Keds?

Exactly, Bingo!!! You are absolutely correct… you would have nodded and given a wry smile in agreement. Even I did the same. Nothing more… nothing less.

And then…? “Na, tumi emon korte paro na…” *THYAAAI THYAAAI THAAAI* “Tumi ebhabe Shromik-ke asamman korte paro na..” *THYAAAI THYAAAI THAAAI* “Na tomar toh kono dosh nei… kintu Ami Spartacus” *THYAAAI THYAAAI THAAAI*…  and so he spoke and then there was action and again he spoke…and again there was action and again he spoke… and again there was action… after 20 minutes and when PT was over, I kept wondering what was that!

I was introduced to Shri Arun Kr Das… and so were my classmates.

Next day he held my hand and hugged me tight.

I was travelling today with my colleagues in a place called Boisar (near Tarapore if that rings a bell) and visiting business partners… when I saw the post on FB by Aniruddha Hom Choudhury. I didn’t knew what to do… I wanted to write but couldn’t write anything. It was the final call of the day… I got out of the car and asked my colleagues to excuse me and go ahead. I stood there and cudn’t help tears flowing down behind the dark glasses.

It dawned that I belong to the age where individuals who have shaped you are blessing you for the final time.

I wouldn’t have been writing this piece had it not been another tagging from Sankhadip again on that post. I don’t believe in writing obituaries.

Arun Da earned the respect from everyone… not sure why he ever felt that he wasn’t respected… the students certainly did. Simple living, simple words… he is a simple man. And probably being simple is not easy. And I am sure he never made an effort to be so.

I can still see the man in white t-shirt and black shorts running around to tell me and Debanjan how to interchange the positions… while Debanjan can move in from the left wing to the centre, I move out to the left taking a defender along to create the space.

It was Class IX and it was the first game of the senior school football tournament against Class VIII. We were horrible. Somehow we managed to score a goal and we won. While we were coming out, he looked at Sumanta Mukherjee and me and gave a smile and looked away… and said, “Khela-ta khub bhalo hoyni… maane khub baaje holo khela-ta”.

I have not seen a man in my life as “সত” and “নির্ভেজাল”as Arun Da. I have not. He was from the old school thoughts. Those were the days when day and night cricket was catching up and one day I arrived at practice wearing all black… in fact 2 of us… me and Himanshu Shekhar. After the practice, he told me not wear black from the next day. He was a believer in simplicity and he had immense respect for the tradition. Probably, that was his way showing respect to the game in the purest form.

At cricket practice, he used to throw the ball so hard while giving you catching practice. My palms just shrunk as I write this sentence.

During the annual exhibitions, Games & Sports Department became my home from Class VII onwards. Arun Da simply used to ask, “Girbban, ebar ki? Dekhe nish ektu”.

1993… We were in Class X and Inter Mission Football Tournament was being organised. I was part of the first XI… and unfortunately, I had a bad knee. I was not practicing for days. I used to come to the ground with a bandaged knee and sit out. Arun Da was disappointed with me… I could feel that. He wasn’t talking with me too even after I started practicing. A day before the finals, he made all of us take penalty kicks in the practice. I was the only one who scored 10 on 10. Koustoov scored 9 of 10. Next day, the final was against RKM Midnapore. They went ahead by a goal in 1^st half. We pressed hard, tried hard… we had our chances and closest we came when my shot was headed out by their defender from goal-line. Minutes after that and with 10 odd minutes remaining and much to surprise of many, Arun Da substituted me. 3 minutes from the close of play, we were awarded a penalty but unfortunately we missed the same and thus we lost the game too.

Next day morning, we were all for PT in front of Saradananda Bhavan. The man comes along in white shirt and grey trousers… looking very disappointed and dejected. He spoke, “Kaal aamra bhalo kheleo here gelam… amar-o ekta bhul hoyechhilo… Girbban ke takhon tule na neowa uchit hoyni. O thakle penalty-ta maarte parto.” This man need not have said this in front of 120 guys. He didn’t have to. There wasn’t any guarantee that Girbban would have scored from the spot!!!

Arun Da, He never made another one like You. He never will again.

Dekha habe.