The Kaataans

By JF on Monday, July 12, 2010 - 00:14

The girls of a rural government school throw a bit of a surprise for their posh town rivals. Kannal Achuthan on a ball badminton match that served up several lessons.

The girls of Holy Cross lost to no one. That much we knew was true. We considered ourselves the best school for miles around and we believed in taking the cup home. Be it quizzing, debating, dancing or basketball.

As captain of the school badminton team, Malar was quite confident that it was going to be an easy game. There were seven of us, including the two substitute players. "Let's just do a couple of games. And then go for ice-creams," she said.

I couldn't agree more. As the front right player in the team, I'd practised a few mean serves that I was sure could not be returned. Ice-creams in the new Baskin-Robbins outlet near school sounded just right. Perhaps, we could have a mini-celebration before the win. 

The match was scheduled for the following Saturday. And we were particularly confident of the win because our opponents were a team from a girls school in the Kaatnayakampatti panchayat. 

Priyanka, tall and lanky, had laughed when she heard the name. “Kaatnayakampatti? Is that even part of the civilised world," she asked. And we'd joined the laughter. At one point we'd started calling the other team 'Kaataans', Tamil slang for uncivilised. 

Not that we didn't practise. We just took it easy. Ball badminton requires skill and nimbleness. You didn't have to run around like in shuttle or tennis but there was finesse to the game. A gentle twist of the wrist could send the yellow ball spinning away from the reach of the opponent's racquet. You could smash the ball in a way that was practically impossible to return. You had to judge quickly whether to attempt to return a serve that took the ball flying out of the court. A failed attempt could give the other team points. 

Lydia and Subashini -- the other two players in the team -- were discussing the sleek black divided skirts that we'd got made for our uniforms. Paired with white tops, we really looked smart. We sported deep blue wristbands for that extra touch of cool. Our racquets had been recently strung and looked good.

So we were set. We'd reach the venue of the match on Friday. And we'd met the Kaatnayakampatti girls in the dining hall. We'd had to smother our sniggers. The girls did look like Kaataans. They wore oily plaits and long blue cotton skirts that was probably their school uniform. They had chattered loudly and wolfed down a minimum of six idlis per girl while we daintly nibbled at two or three. 

The day of the match dawned clear. We took our places relaxed. The Kaataans took theirs. The first serve was mine. I decided I'd do my deadly drop serve. This would take the ball so close to the net that the front opponent would hardly have the time to swoop low with her racquet.

No one in my team expected the return. But the ball came flying back. Right back at me. And I missed. I thought it was a fluke. How wrong I was.

Point after point, the Kaataans scored. Their bare feet seemed to hardly move, yet they never missed a return. The girl at the centre, obviously the captain, seemed to be everywhere. They never smiled or cheered loudly like we did during the matches we'd won. Just once, the players at the back clicked their racquets together -- a sign of saying "good going" -- when they alternated positions for a serve.

Needless to say, we lost the first match. 12-29. It was to be best of three, so we hastily planned strategy for the second match. But we lost the second one too. 10 - 29. Priyanka cried at the end. Malar stonily shook hands with the other captain.

Those girls were quite friendly. They invited us to their school. And said our uniforms were really nice. One girl even gave me her phone number and asked to stay in touch.

That night, as we sat in the van for our journey home, the Holy Cross team did not have much to say to each other.