Boyhood Memories

It was a time like no other; the wonderful times that I had, as a young boy, growing up in the sixties and seventies.  Boyhood memories, with all its carefree charm, wondrous, playful, fun-filled life, has a special place in my heart.  Looking back, I was blissfully unaware, of what life had in store for me, down the line, just a few years ahead.

The games, we played as youngsters, had some typically funny names; although same or similar games with minor variations existed all over the country.  Just off the cuff, I remember a few names, (of course, in local lingo) such as, lagory, soorchand, icepies, gilli-dandlu, bugri, goli, tyre aata (typically a motorbike or moped tyre was used with the help of a stick or sometimes even the palm was used to roll the tyre on the streets); and of course, the ubiquitous gully cricket, generally played with tennis ball. Sometimes as a substitute for tennis balls, a rubber ball; or a sponge ball; or a cork ball; or even balls made from the produce of trees that bore red flowers in autumn, were used. You see, the frequent use of tennis balls was a costly affair and moreover, the tennis balls, had a tendency to lose its woollen exterior, very early, and turn into a bald, hard rubber ball.

The cricket bats, sometimes, were just flat wood planks shaped in the form of a cricket bat; cheap cricket bats were available in plenty in sports stores specially meant for playing cricket with tennis balls or rubber balls alone.  These bats, more often than not, broke when played with hard balls. 

For ‘wickets’, three stones were placed as ‘wicket’ markers at both ends; sometimes the three ‘wickets’ were marked on a wall, drawn with red-brick pieces or charcoal pieces. 

We could not afford to buy the 'wickets' or balls and bats ourselves; most of the time, we were dependent on some benevolent sponsors.  Many a time, the balls disappeared into the roadside sewers or drains or even house gardens, from where retrieval was not possible.  The boys who got us new balls, were considered to be important patrons and given special privileges, like batting first.

Playing one or the other games with boys of similar ages, during all times of the day was our main pastime; come rain or hot sun shine; the weather gods, never bothered us.  As cheeky boys, we were in the habit of sneaking away from home, sometimes even during the hot midday sun, away from the prying eyes of the parents.  All that was needed to start a game, was just a companion of similar age to play and an empty street, bereft of traffic.  Each game had a unique flavour to it and all the boys and girls of my generation knew each of the above games, by heart.

I am not sure, if the millennial generation has even heard the names of these games.  I think, many of these games have simply disappeared into antiquity, may be, they are lost forever.  Please don’t get me wrong; I am not making out a case that the games should be revived and the youngsters of today should start playing them.  Each generation of youngsters have their own way of choosing a pastime.  The present-day generation are all for video games and app-related games on their mobile phones and play stations; which are available aplenty and have probably replaced the physical games to a great extent; you hardly see youngsters playing on the streets, these days; the latest craze in the app category, it seems, is the game Pokémon Go.  Sometimes, makes me wonder how the games for youngsters get invented and how they get caught on, in the popular imagination of each generation.

Many of the games we played, required plenty of spare time and open spaces.  Luckily for us, as young boys of seventies, we had all the time in the world and many of the streets in Bangalore were free of traffic; there was very scarce movement of traffic all around Bangalore; most of the vehicular traffic was, just cycles and two-wheelers.  Cars were few and far between; mostly owned by few people, who could afford them.  This reminds me, there were only three major companies manufacturing cars in India.  The regal-looking, Ambassador; Fiat, later named as Premier Padmini and of course, the cute small car of those times, the Standard Herald. All these cars were manufactured in collaboration with UK or Italy.  Japanese cars, which we see, all around us, in plenty, these days, were unknown in India in the sixties and seventies.

As a young boy, I loved the Ambassador car and fervently wished to own the car, some day.  That, however, remained a dream, unfulfilled!  Of course, it never occurred to me, at that point in time, that the Ambassador car, would one day become a relic of the past, soon to be confined to the dustbin of history (or remain only as Kolkata taxis). 

As fate would have it, my boyhood days were soon cut short due to the prolonged illness and subsequent demise of my father; this forced me to grow up overnight and assume the mantle of a responsible adult. However, the wonderful, fun-filled memories of my boyhood days, still remain with me and regale me in my present out-of-work, retired state!