Kho Kho

We had two Kho Kho zones marked with chalk on the church compound, and my cousins would only let me play if I promised to fetch them *limbu pani* from the shop between rounds 🥤. Now I see these franchise players diving like kingfishers on screen, and I wonder — does the boy who used to pull my *venni* still watch these matches, or is he fixing nets by the jetty like my father remembers?

बच्ची वेदिका पिंटो को देख के मन में आया — मेरी बेटी भी पिछले साल अपने स्कूल की खो-खो टीम में थी, पर हमारे पास उसके लिए अच्छे जूते तक नहीं थे। उसने घर के पुराने चप्पल पहन के ही प्रैक्टिस की, और मैं उस दिन उसकी

The only Ryan I know is the one who sells *ngari* at the morning market — his *eronba* is the best in Imphal, and he charges a fair price, no haggling. This Hollywood Ryan Gosling? My neighbour’s daughter has his picture on her wall, but she also told me last week she might have

Arey yaar, today I was delivering medicine to that old professor-type in Tilak Nagar. Radio was on in his house, some name Umar Khalid again. Same noise, same heat, same people not getting their parcels on time. My bicycle chain makes more sense than these politics, I tell you. Just fix what's in front of you.

All this Cleopatra talk has me thinking about the Egypt pavilion at the Birsa Munda zoo—especially that dusty, glass-eyed ibis in the corner. My nephew stood there, utterly convinced it was a real bird under some spell, and no amount of logic could shake him. Sometimes the story people choose to believe is just more solid than the marble ledger in front of them.

Ai ia peit ia ki film series ba bun ki kren, hynrei nga iai wad ia ka jingbthah—kine ki kthaw pule bniah bad pyni ia ka jingthoh nyngkong ne ka jingpynthymmai? Ha shkulei, nga hikai ia ki khynnah ban pule na ki kitab kiba la pynshong niam, bad nga sngew ba ki film ruh ki dei ban don ka jingstad bad jinghikai ba shisha, ym tang jingthmu ban pynshlur. Katba nga ieit ban iohi ia ka jingiashem jong ka mynsiem ha ki phim, nga kwah ban ithuh niam ia ka jingpyrkhat ne ka jingjia ba shisha — kita ki ba lah ban pynlong ia ka jingioh jingmut ha ki khynnah jong nga.

When I used to play kho kho barefoot in Aligarh’s school ground, we didn’t have proper lines — just chalk dust and our own diving limits. It warms my heart to see our girls now getting a World Cup trophy for that same game we thought was only for summer holidays. But I’ll be honest: I still feel we delay things too much in this country — if local tournaments had been formalised earlier, we’d have had these champions a decade sooner. Let today’s win push us to stop treating grassroots talent like an afterthought.

ৰাতিৰ কল চেণ্টাৰৰ পৰা ওলাই আহোতে ভাবিছিলো, এই ছোনাম ৱাংচুকৰ দৰে মানুহে দেখুৱাই দিয়ে যে উন্নতিৰ বাবে কেৱল চৰকাৰী অফিচত বহি ফাইল ঘূৰালেই নহয়, নিজৰ গাঁৱৰ মাটিত গছ ৰুইও দেশ সলনি কৰিব পাৰি। বাইকত উঠি পোহৰৰ ফালে আগবাঢ়োতে মনত পৰিল মোৰ জীয়েকৰ স্কুলৰ ফি – প্ৰাইভেট স্কুলত পঢ়াই ভাল, কিন্তু গাঁৱৰ চৰকাৰী স্কুলখনৰ অৱস্থা দেখি মোৰ বুকু ফাটে। এই ভিন্নতাৰ বিষটোৱেই হয়তো ছোনামক ঠাণ্ডা মৰুভূমিতো জ

You remember playing barefoot on the school maidan, dust sticking to your feet, and now the same game fills stadiums. But still, I see the same gap — in the village, our boys run on cracked earth while the franchise kids have rubber mats. Fairness is not about the crowd cheering, haa? It is about the boy who cannot afford shoes still getting a chance to tag the champion.

While kneading new clay for garden pots, I heard the neighborhood boys playing Kho Kho in the rain—just like my baba did before pharmacy college! Finally fixed the transistor radio today, so no more missing the Ultimate Kho Kho commentary. It gives me that same quiet thrill as a perfect glaze.

In our village school, Kho Kho was played on mud so hot it would burn the soles, but we never stopped. Now seeing these franchise players dive on matte, I think of my son’s shoe—one sole loose, waiting for next month’s salary. The game’s rules are same, but the ground beneath us is not.

সকালবেলা উঠে পড়ার টেবিলে বই সামলে রেখেছি, মনে পড়ছে স্কুলের সেই কংক্রিটে পা ছড়িয়ে বসে টসের জন্য অপেক্ষা... আজকাল রেডিওতে শুনি ‘আট্টা’ আর ‘পোল’-এর কথাবার্তা, আর দিদিমার সেই কথাটাই মনে পড়ে – “খেলাটা তো দৌড়ের না, বুদ্ধির, বউমা”। কখনো ভাবিনি এই নস্টালজিয়াই দেশজুড়ে লিগের সাফল্য দেখাবে!

Waah, Dhamaal 4! Ekdum maza aayega! Kal hi mamla aisa hua — class mein neeche bench pe Raju, jo abhi do hafte pehle tak 'kho-kho ka matlab kya hota hai' poochh raha tha, aaj usne itni tez teer maara ki main khud wah-wah kar uthi. Lekin yaar, yeh franchise cricket wali baat hai — Crores ka prize money, sponsors, lights. Humare school ke maidaan mein to abhi bhi barish ke din potholes mein pani bhar jaata hai aur bachhe ungliyon se nadi ka nikalna seekhte hain. Is game ka asli 'dhamaal' to wahan hota hai na, jahan government school ke bachhon ko pata ho ki unhone 7 second mein apni team ko bachaya, isliye nahi ki TV pe naam aayega, balki isliye ki ghar pe maa ko bena chai banane ka mauka mile.

चार बजे उठके बच्चन को स्कूल भेजा, फिर पत्नी के हाथ का गरम गरम समोसा खाकर सोने से पहले खो-खो के टिकट देखे। अल्टीमेट खो-खो में अटैक और डिफेंस के आंकड़े देख के अच्छा लागत है — पहले सिर्फ याद करते थे कि कौन कितना तेज भागता है।

I remember when we played Kho Kho in the school yard, barefoot on the red earth, and the only prize was a bruised sh

Accha, when my son was small, he used to play Kho Kho barefoot in our gali with torn rubber slippers as bases — I’d always yell at him to save his knees, but now watching these franchise players dive on proper mats, I think maybe thoda risk was worth it. Still, I wonder: all this fancy gear and big money, does it still give that same laugh we had when the chaser finally tagged the last one? Because if the village kids can’t afford even a clean ground to practice on, then who is this victory for, really?

చిన్నప్పుడు మా ఊరి మైదానంలో చెప్పులు తీసేసి, దుమ్ము లేపుతూ ఆడిన ఖో-ఖో గుర్తుంది. ఇప్పుడా కుర్రాళ్ళు ఇంత స్పీడుగా, టెలివిజన్ లో పేలవచ్చేస్తున్నారంటే నమ్మలేకపోతున్నా — ఎవరికైనా ఒక్క పులి టచ్ చాలు, గేమ్ మారిపోతోంది. మా స్కూల్ బాలికలు కూడా ఈ సంవత్సరం ‘ఫ్రీజ్’ అనే కొత్త నైపుణ్యం నేర్చుకున్నారు, అది చూస్తుంటే ఇవాళ్టి ఈ ఆట కేవలం పరుగెత్తడం కాదు, మెదడు పని కూడా అనిపిస్తుంది.

Ai, the .xyz domain. Last week my daughter, she is in Dimapur for her nursing exams, sent me a link for some scholarship form—ended with .xyz. First I thought it was a mistake, a child’s prank. But I clicked, filled it out, and later the co-operative bank website also shifted to a .xyz. Now I see them everywhere, on government school notice boards, even the little church’s donation page. My old weaver’s hands find these new addresses like finding a new kind of yarn—unfamiliar at first, but the knot holds. Makes me wonder if we are all just shifting looms, weaving the same cloth on a different frame.

Kabhi school ke ground pe khele kho kho ke baad, haath-pair dhool se bhare the. Aaj Ultimate Kho kho dekh ke yaad aata hai, woh defender kaise tag hone se bachne ke liye pole se kaat maar leta tha, bilkul mere khet ke neem ke ped pe chipkati gilhari ki tarah.

I remember when the RSS shakha started near my mango orchard. The boys were polite enough, helped clean the temple well, but they also told my neighbour's youngest—a good cricketer

This evening, my son taught me how to watch Ultimate Kho Kho highlights on the laptop. I kept comparing the swift 'dives' to my own school days, where my turn as 'chaser' always ended with my chappal coming off, yaar. My balance sheet may be perfect, but my balance on the kho kho court never was.

अरे भई, कल रात दुकान पर एक बच्चा आया, रोज़ की तरह गिटार सीखने नहीं, बल्कि अपना खो-खो का मेडल दिखाने। उसकी आँखों में वही चमक थी जो हमारे जमाने में स्कूल के पीछे खाली मैदान में नंगे पाँव खेलते थे। अब वो फ्रैंचाइज़ी लीग में पैसा देखते हैं, पर असली मज़ा तो तब था जब चाय के ठेले वाले भैया बीच मैच में सीटी बजाकर हमें पकड़ लेते थे कि "पैर में चप्पल डाल लो, नहीं तो छुरी (काँच) लग जाएगी"। अब हम वर्ल्ड कप जीत लिए, बहुत अच्छा, पर जब तक सरकार गाँव के मैदान में लाइट और पक्की ज़मीन नहीं देगी, असली खिलाड़ी गरीबी के लोन में ही फ

They laid the kho kho pitch by our school with wood ash, and running on it felt like gliding on silk. Now, when I watch the league on my little radio, my feet still remember that cool, powdery touch. My old knees couldn't chase a chaser now, but the heart still leaps at a perfect dodge.

ನಮ್ಮ ಶಾಲೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಖೋ ಖೋ ಆಡಿದಾಗ ಬರಿ ಕಾಲಿಗೆ ಮಣ್ಣಿನ ತಂಪು, ಬೆವರಿನ ವಾಸನೆ — ಈಗ ಟಿ.ವಿ.ಯಲ್ಲಿ ಟೀಮ್ ಇಂಡಿಯಾ ಓಡುವುದನ್ನು ನೋಡುವಾಗ ಅದೇ ಉತ್ಸಾಹ ಸಿಗುತ್ತೆ. ಆದರೆ ನಮ್ಮ ಹಳ್ಳಿಯ ಮಕ್ಕಳಿಗೆ ಇನ್ನೂ ಸರಿಯಾದ ಮೈದಾನವಿಲ್ಲ, ಅವರ ಜೊತೆಗೆ ಈ ಬೆಳವಣಿಗೆ ಸೇರಬೇಕು sweet.

మా పిల్లలు కూడా బట్టలు మురికి చేసుకుని ఆడేవాళ్ళు ఖో ఖో — ఇప్పుడు టీవీలో ఫ్రాంచైజ్ లీగ్ వస్తే, ఊళ్ళో కాలువలో నీళ్ళు ఒక పది సంవత్సరాల కిందట ఎలా పారేవో గుర్తొచ్చింది. నా కూతురు గీసిన బొమ్మలు రిఫ్రిజిరేటర్ మీద అలాగే ఉంటే, ఈ ఆట కూడా అసలు సరదా చెప్పుకోకుండా ఫిక్స్డ్ మ్యాచ్ లా మార

I was mending my daughter’s skirt—torn at the knee from a game in the mud—and I thought: we have no field for them to play proper, only the school veranda. Now the television shows them running in clean jerseys, all the way to the World Cup. My girl asks for shoes; I tell her, “This village has waited fifty years for a good road—shoes will come after the rice boats don’t leak.” She is faster barefoot anyway.

हाम्रो स्कुलमा खो-खो खेल्दा खाली खुट्टा मैदानमा दौडिन्थ्यौं — अहिले पनि गंगटकको केन्द्रमा केटाकेटीहरू ब्रेकमा त्यही उत्साहले खेल्छन्। तर पछिल्लो अनुदानको deadline मा पाएको छानो मर्मतको पैसाले library

बस अड्डे पर दूध की कढ़ाई चढ़ाता हूँ, और सोचता हूँ—खो-खो में भी वही बात है। स्कूल में नंगे पाँव दौड़ लगाते थे, अब TV पर फ्रेंचाइजी वाले कोर्ट पर मशीन की तरह पॉइंट काट रहे हैं। पर जब तक हाथ से दबा पनीर पक्का न हो जाए, मुझे भरोसा नहीं—तेज खेल से पहले ज़मीन की मिट्टी चखनी पड़ेगी, तब पता चलेगा कि असली मजा कहाँ है।

Yaar, yeh toh wahi film hai jisme log saalo-saal ke liye bahar rehte hain. Mujhe kal subah table lamp ki wiring theek karte waqt laga, ki main bhi ek chhote "odyssey" mein hoon — clerk ka paper do saal se de raha hoon. Par yahan, ghar lautne ka rasta sirf coaching class ki kitaab ke pannon mein hai.

बचपन में खो-खो खेलते थे, तब पैरों में चप्पल नहीं होती थी, मैदान में कंकड़-पत्थर होते थे। अब टीवी पर देखता हूँ तो लगता है, खेल तो वही है, बस ज़मीन सीमेंट की हो गई और खिलाड़ियों के जूतों की कीमत हमारे पूरे गाँव के राजमा से ज़्यादा है। फिर भी, जब गाँव के स्कूल से उसकी आवाज़ आती है, तो मन करता है कि आज फिर एक गिल्ली-डंडा मिल जाए।

Na gym lo Ravi ane daily wage labourer vachadu, vadu school lo barefoot ga kho kho aadedu. Ippudu Ultimate Kho Kho lo jump catches, dives chustunnaru, super. But aa league lo evadaina Ravi lanti vaallu unnara? Vaallu aadetappudu valla knees, valla lower back ki proper recovery plan untundi data lo? Nenu chustunna—village lo aade pillalaki shoulder pain, ankle injuries common, kani evadiki telidu aa figures. Franchise hype bagundi, kani nijamga vulnerable player ni evaru question chestunnaru?

Reading about Sonam Wangchuk's fast, my mind went to my classroom’s east-facing wall—how the morning sun heats it up so much by recess, the children playing kho kho near it have to dodge that blistering patch. Makes me wonder what data exists on building materials here, something that doesn't just trap heat but holds warmth for our cold nights too. If the state could study and redistribute such practical solutions, maybe fewer families would be counting monsoon clouds with worry, no?

ನಮ್ಮೂರ ಸರ್ಕಾರಿ ಶಾಲೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಕೊ ಕೊ ಆಡಿದ್ದು ಮರೆಯೋಕೆ ಆಗಲ್ಲ—ಬರಿ ಪಾದದಲ್ಲಿ ಮಣ್ಣು ತುಳಿದು, ಕೈಲಿ ಸಪ್ಪೆ ಮಾಡಿ ಓಡಿದ್ದು. ಈಗ ನೋಡಿ, ನಮ್ಮ ರಾಷ್ಟ್ರೀಯ ತಂಡ ವಿಶ್ವಕಪ್ ಗೆದ್ದಿದೆ, ಆದರೆ ಯಾವ ಹೊಸ ನಿಯಮಗಳು ಬಂದಿವೆ ಅಂತ ಗೊತ್ತಾದ್ರೆ ಹೇಳಿ. ನನ್ನ ಬುಲೆಟ್ ಸರ್ವಿಸ್ ಮಾಡಿಸೋಜನ ಮಗನಿಗೆ ಕೊ ಕೊ ಫ್ರಾಂಚೈಸಿ ನೋಡೋಕೆ ಬಿಡಿ, ಅವನು ಹೇಳ್ತಾನೆ "ಸಾರ್, ಎಲ್ಲಾ ಪೈಸಾ ಆಟ ಆಗ್ಬಿಟ್ಟು, ಈಗ ನಿಜವಾದ ಮಜಾ ಇಲ್ಲ" ಅಂತ. ನಾನು ಸಿನಿಯರ್ ಬಾಡಿಬಿಲ್ಡಿಂಗ್ ನೋಡಿ ಕಲಿತವನು, ಮಾರುಕಟ್ಟೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ನಿಜವಾದ ಸಾಮಾನು ಎಲ್ಲಿದೆ, ಮಸಾಲೆ ಎಲ್ಲಿದೆ ಅಂತ ಹುಡುಕಿಕೊ

In my day, the kho kho square was scratched with chalk under the gulmohar tree, and a good chaser could turn so fast the dust rose in a little cloud. Now I watch the league matches with my son over video call, and I must admit the speed of these athletes makes my old knees ache just to see it—romba nalla irukku, this modern game.

Last week, I picked up three college boys from the bus stand, all talking about the World Cup final. One fellow was arguing for the new "power kho kho" rules — I told him, when we played on the temple maidan, barefoot on the sand, we didn't need any gimmicks only speed and a sharp turn of the wrist. That boy’s father was the same age as my son; now his generation runs with a different style, but the rule is still the same: tag the man, don’t cheat the line. Whether it’s Omni taxi or a franchise match, fairness doesn’t change.

I finally learned that old folk tune about the kho kho runner and the mountain spirit on my guitar. Playing it in my flat, I could almost smell the school field dust and hear the ‘chain’ calls. Do you remember that one player who could dodge forever, making the evening last?

हम तो स्कूल में नंगे पाँव खेलते थे, धूल में पैर जल जाते थे, लेकिन खेल के बाद पीपल के नीचे बैठकर, सबका हाथ अपने कन्नी में मिलता था। अब जब टीवी पर प्रो लीग के खिलाड़ी एक्केबाजी में ऐसे उड़ते हैं जैसे भोंक के आगे बुलबुल, तो मन करता है कि अपने बच्चों को भी कभी खुले मैदान में यही खिलाऊँ — पर शहर में चौपाल तो बंद हो गए, सिर्फ सरकारी स्कूल का पुराना परकोटा बचा है।

नक्कीच, मैदानावर कुस्ती करणाऱ्या पायांची आठवण येते. परवा आमच्या वेल क्लबच्या मुलांनी एक टूर्नामेंट आयोजित केले होते — चघळण्यापेक्षा सामूहिक योजना नेहमीच अधिक गोल दाखवते, हे त्यातूनच दिसून आले. सायंकाळच्या सरपटत्या सावल्यांमध्ये खेळण्याचे सौंदर्य हेच खऱ्या विजयाचे असते.

Factory overtime pay-ga thabak machet adu leituna, thōinaba khongna pairammi. Ayuk yengduna kho kho match eikhoigi school-gi phumshang thokpa sandok chaba pami, nupi hairpins-gi shop adu-gi flat-gi baranda-da.

Akhi, etaa bhalila ki je, amara gaara tike size je 'professional' league re sei player ra khela dekhiba padhiba? Mu jadi au ekta saree bikri kariparibi, taahale mote Ultimate Kho Kho ra ticket miliba. Chhota bhauri ta football ground re kheliba belaku, khaali jutta sajaithili, aau seithi training centre ra alaga paani, alaga jersey. Emana tarka jadi sarakar ra haata asithanta, taahale aaji paunji ti school fee ra kaama asithanta.

There is a Kho Kho court chalked on the maidan near my office, and the shouts from the evening games remind me of my own school days, diving for that pole. Now, I watch the Ultimate Kho Kho with my beta, explaining the chain tackles—a new rhythm to an old tune.