Mewalal

I studied in Air Force Central School, now called TAFS in Subroto Park. I was a boarder during the three years I spent here. Since back then teenage boys were not yet obsessed with pornographic MMS', we were intensely involved in sports. Most boarders were in one or the other school team. Everyone would go to cheer all the school matches. Our basket-ball and soccer teams were of a really high quality.

Our most prized possessions were always the sports kit. Gola and Bhogal came and initiated us to soccer shoes much before Nike. We had to buy them on installments from the pocket money we were allowed. The shoes were always kept shiny and their studs cleaned of mud everyday. The meticulous care we took of our playing shorts, jerseys and stockings would have made any parent proud. Mewalal became an important person for us. He was our Dhobi laundry man. With only two sets of playing clothes being available, they needed to be washed and ironed every day.

Mewalal was in his late forties, short, skinny and always had a string of pearls smile on his dark face. He spoke very little but had a cute Bengali sludge to his Hindi. We were all quite fond of him. We would make small bundles of our laundry, stuff a small chit with the count of clothes inside and leave them on our beds before going to school. When we came back, the previous day's linen would be lying there washed, ironed and crisply folded.

We did not meet him often as his work was done when we were away at school. We would occassionaly meet him in the evenings or on holidays. He was just one of the staff working to make our lives easy. But he was to become a very important person in our lives during the winter of '78.

Inter-school soccer had great importance for us as we were the defending champions that year. JP Anand was the all sport resident coach for us. We had a great team and were in good form. Jappu as he was called, made our team physically fit and made us play in the traditional 5-3-2-1 format of hockey. Attacking soccer had won us many games, however in the run-up to the tournament we played against a French school team from the embassy and were thrashed 7-0.

As the tournament began, we beat Springdales 2-1 and had games coming up against Bal Bharti and Sports School Rai. We were desperate to improve our goal difference against Bal Bharti so that we had some cushion against the other tough team. We screwed up. Lost the game 0-1 against the weakest team and were completely shattered. We were losing our grip, and to top it all Jappu fell from stairs and broke his ankle. The entire team felt that we were sure to be knocked out by Rai.

After a hard evening's practice, five of us were sitting in the hostel lawns, knocking a football around and chatting. That's when Mewalal sauntered past and asked, 'What's wrong with you guys? Your drooping faces look as if Jappu has thrashed you all'. Atul our centre-half was pissed and let him have it,' Jappu can't even walk to the loo. You better mind your own business if you want to stay on your feet'. He was knocking the ball on his knees and suddenly kicked a half-volley at Mewalal. I was sitting on the steps and thought the frail Mewalal would get knocked off. But he took it on his chest, bounced it up on his knee and headed it back to Atul so hard that he turned and took it on his hip. We turned to look at him in amazement. How could get so much power in the header with hardly any ball toss? and control off the chest?

'Do you know how to play soccer?', 'Where did you learn to head like that?', 'Let's see what else you know'. Within a minute a three-a-side soccer game had started in the lawns. He was better than all of us put together. His ball control, passing, headers were something we had never seen before. In barely ten minutes, he had us panting and had scored thrice through the make-shift goal posts. All our screaming and shouting had got quite a few kids to the balconies and they were all witnessing something really extra-ordinary. Mewalal, we all realised was in a different league. The moment he saw a crowd building up he stopped the game, made an excuse and went back home.

We went to our dorms in silence, took a shower and got ready for dinner. We filed past the prefects for dinner and took our places in silence. It was a Wednesday and mutton stew was to be served. Normally our favourite, but today we were like in a trance. Barely spoke to each other. As was our routine we would go for a walk after dinner and chat up. Suddenly Atul said,'Lets go to Mewalal's house'. We ran back to the dining hall and found out from the waiters that he lived in a one-room apartment on the campus itself. With a spring now in our steps we walked in the direction of his house.

It was quite dark and there was a chill in the air. We could see long clothes lines strung across bamboo stilts. White sheets and assorted clothes were shimmering in the moon-light. It was easy to find. He had just sat down to dinner when we burst in. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor and did not seem surprised to see us.

He took only ten minutes and came out of the house. He washed his hands, took out a pack of Panama cigarettes and sat on a bench. 'Yes?'. 'Were you expecting us?' I said. 'You don't look like ones to let unanswered questions go. Yes I thought you would come'. Atul asked, 'Where did you learn to play soccer like that?''It's a long story. One of immense pride for me and my family as also of sadness. Its also something I don't want to be made public'. After our assurances he embarked on his tale.

Even in the period when India's independence movement gathered momentum, there was always a kind of soccer mania in Bengal. So it was not surprising that he took to soccer very early. At almost the same age as we were. Very soon he could out dribble much bigger opponents in his school near Behala. He would think of football all the time. He joined a small local club and got to play some good matches. One of the talent scouts picked him up to play for Bengal. He was the sure then that he had arrived. He got his first pair of shoes.

Bengal team had India seniors Taj Mohammed and SM Kaiser in their ranks. Mewalal was a pocket sized dynamo in the forward line. His speed and skill made him a special target of opponents. His dominance of local football scene of this period ensured that he was a serious contender for the national line-up. When it was known that after missing out one edition due to the war the next Olympics were to be held in London, there was all round anticipation in his village.

True enough, his name was there in the papers as one of the probables. A camp was to be held in Bombay before departing to London on a ship. The final sixteen would be selected there. He packed his only pair of shoes and reached Bombay. His fire and passion in the camp was infectious. He was destined for greater things and was aboard the ship to possible glory.

Mewalal's time was to come three years later at home. The first ever Asian Games were played in Delhi. He was also at the pinnacle of his form. India won gold. Mewalal scored in all the three matches that India played and won. He scored four of the seven goals that India scored in the tournament. A year later a Quadrangular was played in Colombo. India beat Ceylon and Burma. Mewalal scored 4 of the six goals that India scored and won the tournament. He was feted across the country and the world. Pandit Nehru met him and his pictures came across all papers.

He played once more on the big stage the Helsinki Olympics before fading away completely and surfacing twenty five years later in my school as a Dhobi.

His eyes were swimming with tears. His rough, dark cheeks were wet and he was choking with emotions as he completed his tale. All of us had a lump in our throats as we sat on the ground stunned. He quitely got up and walked in to his house and went to sleep. Without saying anything all of slowly got up as the hour bell rang twelve times.

Next day Atul sent us a message to meet up behind dining hall during the lunch hour. He looked determined as all twelve of us got together. He suggested that we take on Mewalal as our coach for the tournament and bring him back some of his lost stature. The task of convincing him was left to Atul and myself. Both of us went to his house that evening before the games hour. After pleading, begging, motivating, cajoling we finally had to threaten him that we would disclose his secret to all if he refused.

He reached the ground half an hour later. He was dressed in India colours. What a sight. The sheer joy of wearing the Olympic soccer shoes, in his eyes was worth going miles to see. His fervour was even greater than our own love for the game. There was a bonding here which was unexplainable. With two days to go for a must win game, Mewalal set about teaching us the 4-2-4 format. How the two linkmen gave us the flexibility to attack with six and defend with six. Mewalal taught us man-to-man marking, tight defence, off the ball running, drawing away defenders. All these to early-teenagers was like gospel being told and Mewalal was Christ.

The team was so determined to win the trophy for him that the tension was palpable. On the day of the match with Sports School Rai, none of us went to school. We met in my dorm and spoke to each other with a determination I did not think existed. We all got dressed and quietly boarded the bus. Mewalal did not come with us. He sent us off with a prayer.

The game was very intense. The memories of the game are etched in my mind forever like a slow motion replay. We were 1-0 up at half time and won the game against the best team in the tournament 2-0. We did not allow them to take a single shot at our goal. Mewalal had helped us do a remarkable turn-around.

We went on to defend the title that year. Jappu was there when the trophy was awarded at National stadium as the school coach. But we all knew. Later that evening, we took the trophy from the sports room, wore our individual medals, smuggled in many bottles of beer and went to Mewalal's room. There we celebrated through the night as he regaled us with more soccer stories. After a couple of bottles of beer he began to slip into his native Bangla but we did not mind. His joy of the evening seemed even greater than ours.