martial arts

Learning the martial arts.

When my daughter was in 3^rd grade I suddenly realized that the world was no longer the secluded secure place I had grown up in. There  were all kinds of jerks and villains around, rapists, kidnappers, molesters---. Even though in India we tried to sweep all this under the carpet.

“It really doesn’t happen in India. It is a part of western culture. “ Remember this was twenty years ago!

Not really true.

Bad things were happening all around us. The few TV channels and the newspapers were slowly beginning to expose the goings on of Indian society. Now we get horrific news every day!

I decided that she needed to learn to defend herself. I looked for a karate class.

“Don’t” said my mother in law ,” she will become an aggressive violent girl. It is not lady like.”

My husband had no opinion on the subject at all. He was busy trying to figure out if antibiotic excretion into sewage was responsible for the emergence of resistant killer bacteria.

I took both my children to the karate class. It was full of young adult men. There was not a lady in sight. The master had a  squint and plenty of acne. He looked like a villain from a Tamil movie.

There was no way I could leave my children there. I decided to join too.

We progressed slowly up the belts. Yellow, orange, many stages of brown. It took several years. We missed classes during rain, examinations and holidays. (My children went to their grandparent’s house.)

I discovered that the martial arts are about control, mental and physical. You don’t attack until you are cornered and after you have warned the assailant. It is a last controlled resort. Once you attack, there should be no question of retaliation from the assailant. Your blows must be controlled and preferably lethal.

One day when my daughter was returning from school by public transport,  the bus conductor, who was walking up and down the bus ,stroked her arm. She thought it was an accident, but when he did it again and yet again, she rapidly lost her cool.

Master had taught us a “twist “ a single move that fractured the forearm, both radius and ulna. She caught his arm in a vice like grip and gave it a twist. There was a satisfactory cracking sound and the conductor started to scream. The driver slammed on the brakes. This was over a bridge not too far from home. Sundry people (including my daughter) exited the bus in the confusion. No one quite figured out what had happened. (The conductor seemed dazed too)!

She was in the habit of going to the video library down he road on Saturday afternoons to borrow Hindi movies. One day a man followed her back home. At the deserted foyer of the flat he grabbed her from behind. She released herself from his grip ( our villainous master was good!) She hit him with the DVD. She kicked him in the groin. Howling and screaming he attempted to escape. She chased him down the road yelling “catch him, catch him!” Some workers digging a ditch captured him.

My husband was summoned to the police station nearby. “Your daughter is here, she insists on filing  a case of molestation against a man. She is technically a minor. We need her guardian present.”

“Drop the case” advised the police woman,” Since he only touched you he will get only four years. He may come after you after that.”

“Huh” said my daughter, “register it. I will be in college elsewhere after your years. He won’t find me!”

He was taken away and we never saw or heard from him case after that.

My son went to the USA many years later. He was walking down the road with another Indian friend when four  drunk  students accosted them with sticks. They tried to hit my son. Wrong move. He caught the assailant in a vice like grip and shouted, “one step closer, I break his neck.” They ran. He released his captive and helped him on his way with a solid kick to the butt.

My husband is often  asked, “do you practice martial arts?”

“Oh no” he always replies, “I am a very non violent person. I just shout.”

“Shout what?”

“Son, daughter, wife, HELP.”

“Does it work?”

“Well I haven’t had to do it yet, but as a back up we also have this vicious dog---“

Dr Gita Mathai is a paediatrician with a family practice at Vellore.

gitamathai@gmail.com

running the trail

Running the CTMarathon

Last year I signed up for the CTM2013

On the morning of the race, I enthusiastically woke up the family.

“Get up, we have a long drive ahead. It says the venue is an hour from Chennai.”

Unenthusiastic groans reached me.

“It is too far—it is practically in Andhra Pradesh. They won’t have aid. You are old. You never mention on the form that you are asthmatic. There is no cell signal. If something happens we will never know.“

Finally the united front worked on my fears crushed me and my enthusiasm. I did not run.

 As the registration for the event in 2014 loomed I decided that “forewarned is forearmed.”

“Are there any hotels near the Red Hills where I can spend the night?”

The organizers said, ”There is dormitory type accommodation in the Gojan Business School.”

“My family won’t allow it,” I said “someone will come with me, I need a hotel.”

They found me a hotel and I booked a room. It seemed very cheap and they were offering free breakfast as  well. I kept silent about the charge for the room and we set out the day before the race. The hotel was just off the highway but no one seemed to have heard of it. We also passed it twice in our attempt to locate it. The problem was that a couple of the letters in the neon sign had fused. It read “S M Hot”

My grandson who was the look out on the left side thought it was an advertisement for a restaurant serving hot food!

We settled into the room only to find that they had not paid their cable subscription so all channels were blacked out with the notice ”channel unavailable due to non payment of dues!”

Grandson started a small agitation.

We got up at 4 am and followed a taxi with some other runners to the venue a half completed college with no electricity. A few focus lights had been set up on a generator. The bathrooms were dark and scary.

“I’ll go back to the hotel, sleep and pick you up after the race is over,” announced my husband.

I protested, ”It took us an hour to get here. It will take you an hour to get back and then an hour to return. I will take only three hours to complete---“

Husband and grandson said, “we can’t sleep in the parking lot.” And left.

Many wise “accompanying persons” did sleep in the parking lot. There was a lot of breeze and amazingly the place was mosquito free.

The race started in darkness. It was a muddy slushy red trail with a breathtaking view. The volunteers and photographers were excellent. Water ran out but since I always carry my own it makes little difference to me.

I finished in 2:47.

I had warned my family to take photos but husband and grandson were no where to be seen.

The breakfast was excellent. After  a good whack of kesari, idly vadai, pongal and hot coffee I started looking for family.

They finally turned up 2 hours later.

The lost the way, a van rear-ended them and then turned turtle on the highway, they had to extract the driver from the wreck, nothing happened to him, his van was totaled-----.

They never made it back to the hotel.

I climbed into the car and we reached.

Another calamity, the room key was missing.

By now I was quite irritated. I was covered in red mud and I wanted a bath!

“Where is the room key?” I asked.

“We lost it at the site of the accident.”

We finally made it home.

Yes you are right. No one wants to take me next year.