War Minus The Shooting

By Shevlin Sebastian

COLUMN: Tunnel Of Time

When Uruguay, the last South American side, went out of the 2010 World Cup, our hearts were truly broken. It was going to be an all-European final on Sunday: Spain Vs Holland. Brazil, Argentina, Paraguay, Chile, and Ghana: by losing they made us bleed. Why do we Indians root for these countries? It is primarily because their football is free-flowing and magical.

When Lionel Messi of Argentina is given the space to move around, his ball control is dazzling. The 'zero angle' goal that Brazilian right-back Maicon scored against North Korea was breathtaking.

There is a joy which one experiences in the face of such wonderful skills, shown especially by the South Americans. Then you remember the tough backgrounds that most of them came from. Argentine forward, Carlos Tevez, like the great Diego Maradona, grew up in a crime-ridden neighbourhood in Buenos Aires. Both surmounted formidable hurdles to make a mark on the international stage.

On the other hand, look at the Europeans. Many European nations have excellent football academies, top-notch coaches, and some of the richest domestic leagues in the world. They enjoy advantages that footballers in poorer nations do not.

During the quarter-final between Argentina and Germany, at Cape Town, we saw how the free-flowing creative skills of the South Americans were stymied by clever strategy, and the indomitable willpower of the Europeans.

This match created a moment of introspection. Should we follow the Eastern way, of treating life like a river and going along with the flow, which is what the late spiritual leader Osho had suggested, or should we follow the European method: have aims and goals, plan your strategies, and be ruthless.

A football match is also a metaphor for our daily lives. You are moving in society, showing good skills, but there are people lurking about, at the side, in front, and at the back, who are ready to trip you. You dribble past one, two, and even three adversaries, but it is inevitable that you will get tripped and fall. But you stand up again, and the attempts at tripping continue. Sometimes, those who do the ‘paara’ (Malayalam word for tripping) are exposed. They are shown the red card, and asked to leave the field.

But the dilemma continues: what does one do when faced with non-stop aggression? Keep calm and work your way around the antagonist? Or kick back at the foe and risk the danger of getting a yellow or a red card?

There are no clear-cut answers because life is messy, just as when a player moves forward with the ball, he faces messy situations. But here is how author George Orwell analysed the game of football, and, in an indirect way, life: “Sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard of all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing violence: in other words it is War Minus The Shooting!”

(Published in The New Indian Express, Kerala, on July 10, 2010)

Short Story: 'The Earth Remembers'

 

The Earth Remembers 

Many thanks to noted Kannada author, Dr. B.R. Satyanarayana, for translating a short story of mine about Native Americans.

It was published in Prajavani, which is one of the largest circulated newspapers in Karnataka with a daily circulation of 22 lakh.

Enclosed is the story. Changed the title and modified the story a bit.

By Shevlin Sebastian 

Ahiga touched the rock. It was warm. When he slept next to his mother, sometimes, he touched her face. The same warmth. Ma, you left so early.    

He caressed her necklace around his throat. My lucky charm. 

'Ahiga, come.' 

He turned back. 

It was Dakota.  

He looked at the fire. The meat was turning brown. 

He moved closer.    

Dakota pointed at the ground. Ahiga sat next to him.  

Inola poked the fire with a long stick. Flames flared up.  

He said, 'Ahiga provided this bison.' 

The group clapped. Ahiga looked around. Everybody had smiles on their faces.  

The moment he spotted the bison, his heart started racing. He approached on his horse from the right. He aimed for the sweet spot, behind the front leg. The shot punctured the heart. The bison let out a deep guttural groan. And fell with a thud to the ground. 

Ahiga's breathing quickened. 'Thank you.' 

Inola added, 'When are you getting married?'

Ahiga scratched at the mud. 

Dakota poked his ribs.  

'I don't know. Waiting for Seone.'

'To say yes?' 

'Yes.'  

Onacona smiled. 'I see you are always wrapping a blanket around Seone near the stream.'

Sweet Seone. Her braided black hair. Her mischievous smile. Oh, her fragrance. 

Ahiga touched his warm cheeks. 'Very cold.' 

Dakota said, tongue in cheek, 'She also had her blanket.' 

Ahiga blurted out, 'It was still cold.' 

'So two blankets needed,' said Inola. 

The laughter echoed in his ears. 

Ahiga pointed. 'Meat is ready.' 

'Changing the subject?' said Inola sarcastically. 

Ahiga looked up. The flap of the tepee opened. Chief Wohali straightened his headgear.  

That terrible day. All of them on horses, in the canyon. A shot rang out. From the mountain on the left. 

Neske fell. Bow and arrows scattered. His horse neighed, the muscles trembling. Chief Wohali bent down. His son had died instantly. Ahiga's hand holding the stirrup shook.   

A few went in chase. But the white man left no trace. Wohali's eyes. Red all the time. His wife Behita with her stooped shoulders. 

Wohali sat down. 

'Onacona, tell me, what's the latest?'

'Chief, the whites have set up their homes.'

'Where?'   

'A few miles from here.'

'What did you see?'

'Rifles and pistols.' 

'And we have only bows and arrows.' 

'Yes, Chief. We need to move fast.' 

Ahiga's heart sank. His time with Seone at the stream. Finished.  

Somebody said, 'Will we find water?' 

'I don't know.'  

The aroma of roasting meat arose in the air. Ahiga's nose twitched. 

Wohali looked at the men one by one. Ahiga met his eyes. 'We will move tomorrow.'

The meat had been cut. Ahiga wrapped a bit in a leaf and took it to his tepee, to eat with boiled beans and corn. Should I call Seone?... not today, tomorrow. 

Inside, his father, Kohko, was lying on a rug on the floor. 

'How is your shoulder pain?' Ahiga said.  

'Improving. Have put a wild mint poultice.'

Ahiga peered closer at the dark green paste. 'Ma always said this works.' 

'Yes.'  

'Here, take some.' Ahiga shared the meat with Kohko.

They ate. 

Kohko looked up. 'Your bison?' 

Ahiga nodded. 

'First?' 

'No. Third.' 

'Good. You're getting better than Neske.' 

Ahiga's cheeks turned warm. It was so quiet inside the tepee. Ma was the chatterbox. 

The sound of a rattle. A sweet voice arose. Oh, that's Inola's wife, Neva. She's singing a lullaby.  

'Sleep, my little one, sleep. 

The buffalo are near. 

The stars watch over you. 

Sleep.'  

'Did Ma sing this?' Kohko said.  

Ahiga let out a sob. His throat burned.  

Kohko touched him on his arm with his callused palms. 'It's all right.' 

Somebody began playing a flute. 

Ahiga bent and tightened his moccasins. He pulled the strap with the bow and arrows across his back. 'Father, I have to go.'   

He parted the tepee flap and stepped out. As he walked, he patted his full stomach. He burped. 

Most tepees were in darkness. The flute-playing stopped. He moved silently, and reached the outcrop. 

'Hi Dakota.'

'All quiet?' 

'Yes.' 

Ahiga threw twigs and leaves into the fire.  

They sat on their haunches in silence. 

He turned to Dakota. 'Do you have anybody?'  

Dakota stared at the fire. 'Not yet.'  

He patted his friend's back. 'Be patient. You will find somebody.' 

Dakota swallowed and looked away. 'Hope I'm alive till then.' 

By 1 a.m., Dakota’s head drooped. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. 

Ahiga looked up. Neske. Ma. Ma. Neske. 

A coldness at the side of his neck. He reached out with his hand. Blood spurted out. 

The knife sliced through the neck. 

As they stared at Ahiga, Austin whispered to his friend, Brock, 'The bastard's smiling.'

Brock leaned close. 'You're right.'

'I feel bad. A strapping young man.' 

'Kill or be killed, Austin. You know that.'  

Brock fingered the necklace. 'Look at the necklace.' 

Austin peered.  

Brock said, 'Take it. Give it to Susan.' 

'What will I say?' 

'Bought it at the trading post.' 

'Good idea.' 

He lifted the necklace, then wiped the blood off on Ahiga's leather trousers.  

Austin and Brock beckoned with their hands.

Several men came up. They had tied their horses some distance away around a few tree trunks. The men walked the rest of the distance, coming in from the other side of the stream. 

The men had brought burning coals with them in a hollowed-out bison horn. One by one, they lifted the flaps and threw the coals inside. 

The tepees caught fire.

As the flames grew in intensity, the shouts of the Cheyenne rose in a crescendo. 

Thick plumes of black smoke rose into the sky. There was an acrid smell.

As the families came rushing out, the frontiersmen opened fire. There were shouts and agonising groans. A woman sobbed as she held a dead child in her arms. Moments later, she was shot dead. A Cheyenne placed an arrow against his bowstring. A bullet pierced his forehead. Inola's throat had a large hole. Wohali soiled his pants. He sat up, murmured, 'Behita' before falling back dead.  

Neva lay on her back, her baby on her chest. Both were dead. Right next to her lay an unmoving Seone, wearing a small heart pendant, drenched in blood. Blood flowed from wounds on the head, face, chest, stomach, and legs. 

'Okay count them,' said Brock. 

Two men walked about. 'Forty.' 

They brought the shovels that had been kept in pouches strapped to their saddles.

They moved a few feet away and dug into the ground. The men let out grunts and exhaled.

The minutes passed. A small mound of mud formed at the edges. Everybody inhaled the damp smell.

It took two hours to build a large enough pit. 

One man held the hands and another the feet and they threw the bodies into the pit. For the children, one man could do the job, holding their legs with one hand. They tossed them as if they weighed nothing. The bodies lay piled up, one on top of the other. Finally, they threw in Ahiga and Dakota. 

The men stared at the pit. They wiped their faces with a kerchief. Some sat on their haunches, trying to get their breath back.

In the eerie silence, a coyote let out a bark followed by a howl. 

They shovelled the mud back into the pit, and covered it. The men used the back of the shovels to tap down the mud and make it a smooth surface. 

Austin went to the stream and washed the necklace. Now it shone in the moonlight. He placed it in his pocket. 

With sweaty foreheads and open mouths they trudged towards the horses. 

The next morning, Austin took out the necklace and presented it to Susan with both hands. 

Her eyes bulged as she held it in her palms. 'So beautiful. Where did you get it?'

'Trading post. Wear it.' 

She did. Stepped back. 'How do I look?' 

'Beautiful.' 

He reached out and kissed her. She nuzzled his nose. 'You're kind. Thank you.'

'How did the battle go?' she said. 

'Easy. They ran away.'

She held Austin's eyes. 'Just like that.' 

He looked away and said, 'Yes.'   

A day later, the men poked the ashes with wooden sticks to look for valuables. Some found silver rings and beaded necklaces. Brock found a flute. 

He played a few notes. 

'Hey, can I take it?' said one of the men.

'Sure.'  

Within a few days, the white settlers took over the land. They began building their cabins. In the daytime, the boys ran to the bank of the stream. They took off their shirts and jumped into the water, letting out squeals of delight. 

They were not aware that other children of their age were rotting in a nearby pit, killed by their fathers. Sometimes, the women took the clothes and scrubbed them by the side of the stream. It was calm and peaceful beside the stream.

There was no sign anymore that there had been a Cheyenne camp anywhere.

Soon, flowers, grass and weeds would grow over the pit. The bodies would decompose. A few bones would remain.

Only the earth would remember.

'Politicians lit the fuse'

 

        Column: Tunnel of Time

Shevlin Sebastian talks to a rioter

Fourteen-year-old Afzal of Jannagar bustee spoke of what he did on Monday, December 7.

“After the mosque was razed, my mother looked at me and said, ‘As a self-respecting Muslim you must go out into the streets and fight for your rights.’ What could I do? I went out and joined the boys. We were all shocked, we never expected it. It was decided a procession would be taken out. A crowd gathered.

“As we were crossing CIT Road my father saw me. He pulled me out, grabbed my ears, and said, ‘Go back home, don’t get into all this.’ But my friends were watching. How could I walk away like that? I broke free of my father’s grasp and joined the procession.

Afzal and I sat on the green patch of Park Circus Maidan. It was a clear day. A light breeze was blowing. Afzal had wide, big eyes. They were full of surprise and shock. He could not imagine he had been a party to such violence. Afzal was thin. He smiled now and then but could not conceal the guilt.

“The Muslims are very angry,’ he said. “They have never been so angry before, especially in West Bengal. But we are aware it is the politicians who create these problems. We have nothing against Hindus. They are good, decent people. But the politicians... they light the fuse and then go and sit at home, secure. Nothing happens to them. We are the ones who suffer. The poor suffer all the time. We are running out of food. Unlike you we don’t have a refrigerator in our homes.

“At Padmapukur we were attacked with stones and bombs. I saw young boys who never had the courage so much as to lift a stone transformed before my eyes. This is what happens in a crowd. I saw a boy my age pick up a bomb which had been thrown at us but had not exploded. He just picked it up and hurled it back. How did he get so much courage? Had the bomb burst at that moment his hand would have been blown off.

“We returned and attacked some shops on Park Street. We knew one grocery store owner was a known sympathiser of the Bharatiya Janata Party and used to provide funds to it. We attacked the store. I took part in the attack for a while, breaking down the door, entering the shop and grabbing packets of biscuits and chocolates. But after a while I was frightened and ran back home.

“Later we collected money from the mohalla to buy bombs and arms. In half an hour we had Rs 5,000. Had we gone around asking people for money for somebody’s marriage the same people would have turned us down. But on that day money was no problem. The police were of no consequence. We were not scared of them. In fact we frightened them away.

“This should stop. This hatred will lead us nowhere. We heard when the news of the demolition of the mosque spread to the bustee areas of Number Four Bridge, the Hindu cobblers there celebrated by distributing sweets. Will this not make Muslims angry? I am so confused. I am afraid a bomb will explode any moment and I’ll lose my arm.

“My father slapped me hard when I returned home. He asked me if I had gone mad and said I should not indulge in violence. What has happened has happened. Hindus and Muslims will have to live together. I agreed with him. I like the Hindus. They have helped me a lot. I work for a Hindu in his house as a servant, but I am also afraid. Who knows what will happen?”

(Published in The Telegraph, December 25, 1992)

Many thanks to award-winning journalist Fr. CM Paul for this write-up

 

Captions: Swimmer Loraine Varghese; children's book author Vernon Thomas; my photo by Ratheesh Sundaram 

Fr. Paul was former editor of The Herald, Kolkata, founded in 1839, and is now the Vice Principal, Sciences, at Salesian College Autonomous, Siliguri.

He was the Founder-Director of Radio Salesian and Salesian TV-YouTube.  He also established the Mass Communication Departments at Don Bosco University in Guwahati and Salesian College in Sonada, Darjeeling. And he is also the founder of the Mother Teresa International Film Festival in Kolkata.

By C. M. Paul

In 1992, swimmer Loraine Varghese broke a silence that had long shadowed Indian sports.

Her allegations of sexual harassment in national camps, reported by journalist Shevlin Sebastian, marked the first time such claims were publicly aired in post-Independence India. The scoop reverberated through Parliament, exposing the darker realities behind medals and glory.

Today, more than three decades later, Sebastian’s name surfaces again—this time in the literary world. The veteran journalist, with over 4,500 published articles across leading Indian publications, has been named a finalist in the UK-based Globe Soup international short story competition.

Sebastian became a finalist at the Globe Soup Lit Fest in London for his short story Tightrope Walk, an allegory about the state of the world told through a man and his pet monkey. For a man who has chronicled the struggles and triumphs of countless others, the recognition is a reminder that his own story is equally compelling.

Born in Kolkata, Sebastian’s career began at Sportsworld of Kolkata’s Ananda Bazar Patrika Group, before spanning The Week, Hindustan Times, and The New Indian Express. His reporting has taken him from the Asian Games in Beijing to the Cricket World Cup in Johannesburg and the Olympic Games in Athens, weaving narratives that combined athletic triumph with human vulnerability.

Sebastian credits his literary and journalistic leanings to his Kolkata mentors: Vernon Thomas and Jesuit Fr Horace Rosario. Thomas was a prolific Anglo-Indian children’s author who modelled discipline and storytelling craft, and The Herald weekly’s editor Rosario as a mentor figure who encouraged Sebastian’s early writing and helped him see literature as a vocation rather than just journalism.

Sebastian’s career has not been confined to the newsroom. He has ventured into fiction, publishing four novels for children, and his short stories have found homes in diverse literary platforms. Singapore-based journals like Kitaab and Borderless Journal, Toronto’s Scarlet Leaf Review, Pune’s Active Muse, Guwahati’s Twist and Twain, and India’s juggernaut.in have all carried his work. These publications reveal a writer unafraid to cross borders, both literal and literary, in pursuit of narrative expression.

Yet, it is his courage in 1992—amplifying Varghese’s voice against entrenched systems—that remains a landmark. At a time when athlete protection frameworks were non-existent, Sebastian’s scoop forced uncomfortable questions and set a precedent for investigative sports journalism in India.

His recognition by Globe Soup now situates him within an international community of storytellers, affirming that his themes—justice, resilience, and the human condition—transcend borders. For readers and aspiring journalists alike, Sebastian’s journey is a testament to persistence, versatility, and the enduring power of words.

(Published in Mattersindia.com)

https://mattersindia.com/2026/03/sports-scandal-reporter-lands-in-londons-globe-soup/

Condom’s Query

 

COLUMN: Tunnel of Time 

By Shevlin Sebastian

A huge cry erupted in Condom Parliament on the first day of the Assembly session: “Condoms of the world unite!”

After the shouting died down, all the multi-coloured condoms sat down and waited for the Prime Minister Adam Condom to speak.

The PM cleared his throat and said, “For much too long, we have been an exploited group. We are probably the only group in the world who work to exhaustion on holidays like Christmas, Holi, Diwali, Independence Day, the Pujas and the numerous bandhs. We rarely get a break at all.

“Except when a man suffers from a slipped disc or his wife has left him or he is full of ‘Old Monk’ rum (then he behaves like an old monk himself). Otherwise, it is just work, work, work all the time.

“And the most bitter pill to swallow (my apologies here to my birth-control friends) is that the condom companies do not give us a share of the profits. And yet, we have seen how, at the end of every month, company executives take their profits (in crores of rupees) in their suitcases to the banks and to their homes.”

Prime Minister Adam Condom stopped speaking and gazed at the condoms sitting in tiers in front of him.

He raised his right fist and shouted: “I have a dream! I have a dream that one day we will be recognised as a proper industry, with proper working hours, and with provident fund and gratuity paid to us. We should also be given incentives for reducing the world population so easily and cheaply.

“I have a dream that one day condom companies will share their profits with us. We must stop being second-class citizens. It’s time to shoot from the lip, rather than the hip… now I have a few suggestions to make.

“Firstly, we should give more money to Amnesty Condom International, so that they can document condom ill-treatment throughout the world. I have heard that in war-torn Ethiopia, the air force pilots are going crazy. They are using one condom for several sorties. The reason is that they are too poor to buy more condoms. (Question: what has happened to the proceeds from the Band Aid concert?). The result is that our Ethiopian brethren are grossly overworked.

“Nkoma Bwana, the Ethiopian PM told me over the phone that that no sooner had his countrymen returned from an all-night raid, that they were asked to go out again. Some of them have died of exhaustion. This is an extreme form of exploitation. It reminds me of bonded labour condoms in our great state of Bihar, ruled by that tyrant, Kaka Kaloo (Education: Class two failed).”

“Hear, hear,” the Condom Parliamentarians said, banging their palms on the desks in front of them.

“I have also heard about the over-use of condoms by dictator Bad Man Badmaash of Iraq. Ever since he managed to stay in power after the great war and now that President Big Cat Bush has lost the American election, he has gone into a frenzy of celebrations.

“Condoms in Iraq say that they are partying 24 hours a day, and most of them are dog tired. And let me add here, and I request the Condom Press not to report it, since children also read newspapers, that Bad Man Badmaash does not even spare dogs. I’m sorry to say that it’s a dog’s world in Iraq.

“Secondly, we need more money for STUDS [Sudden Totally Unexpected Deflation Syndrome] research. In places like Santa Calcutta, the bold and the beautiful are leading such active lives that STUDS is the inevitable result. After all, we know from personal experience that no man is a machine.

“We need to find a vaccine to combat this growing disease. Otherwise, our livelihood will be threatened. Also, in order to create national awareness, the Rubber Dealers’ Association is hosting a seminar with the theme, ‘We need studs, not STUDS!’ International STUDS fighter Elizabeth Taylor will inaugurate the seminar.

“But, you know, it’s so sad that although we care so much for human beings, they care two hoots about our welfare. All they want is a good time. After all, we have seen what happens regularly, late at night. Then the man returns from the party, accompanied by a beautiful woman, a complete stranger, and after he has persuaded her that he can show her the way to heaven, how desperately he comes in search of us.

“He checks his wallet, looks under the pillow, raises the mattress, opens the drawer in the cupboard and peeks into the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. At that moment, they make us feel like the way the US treats China: most favoured nation. But once they have used us, and you must have experienced this, with what contempt and disregard they flush us down the toilet. I mean, we work so hard and we get nothing in return. And in the words of our greatest dramatist, Stiffspeare, ‘We doth protest too little’.”

Prime Minister Adam Condom paused and then he said, in a soft voice, “I am sorry to sound so pessimistic. So here’s a joke:

Question: why are the babus of Condom Writer’s Building similar to sperms?

Answer: Because one in a million works!”

The Condom Parliament, along with the PM, broke out into loud laughter.

“I end my speech,” Adam Condom said, a smile still on his face, “with felicitations to our sister, Kama Sutra Condom for becoming such a hit among the young generation in India. The other day, while I was at work at the Italian Ambassador’s residence in Chanakyapuri, his son barged into the room and said, ‘Papa and Mama, do you know what comes between Meenakshi, my Indian girlfriend and me?’

“And when his parents shook their heads, the son answered, ‘Why KS, of course!’ Such is her popularity. It has spread through the length and breadth of India.”

Kama Sutra Condom stood up, looking ravishing in a short, frilly pink dress. The Condom Parliament erupted in sustained applause.

She said, in a husky voice, “Down with South Korean-made condoms. We need better rights, better money and more media attention for the working condom. Three cheers!”

(Published in Fantasy Magazine, January, 1994) 

The life and times of Leander Paes

 

Tennis star Leander Paes joined the BJP on March 31, 2026. Earlier, in 2021, he campaigned for the All Indian Trinamool Congress in Goa but did not contest the elections. This time, there is talk that he will be standing.

Not many people can have two successful careers.

One name that comes to mind is Shashi Tharoor, who after a successful stint at the United Nations, is now a four-term Member of Parliament.

Here's an old story about Leander.

COLUMN: Tunnel of Time

By Shevlin Sebastian

The interview with Leander Paes is fixed at 7 a.m. on a Wednesday in September.

Leander would be going to play golf at the Tollygunge club. Photographer Ashoke Chakraborty and I would tag along. While I interviewed him as he played golf, to get a mood piece, Ashok would take the pictures.

At 5.30 a.m., there is a strong shower. At about 6.30, the rain stops. I call up the Paes household. But I seem to have got a fax number. I couldn’t get through.

I stepped out of the house; I had to meet Ashoke Chakraborty outside Paes’ house on Bechhagan Row in Calcutta. The air is cool; the sides of the streets are waterlogged.

Ashoke lands up on time. We go up the steps to the first floor flat. I ring the bell. The maidservant, dark-skinned with gleaming black hair, opens the door. We ask to meet Leander. She says that he is asleep.

"What about Doc Paes?”

“He is also sleeping,” is the reply.

“Can you awaken them?”

“I cannot disturb anyone when they are sleeping.”

So we wait. I feel that now that it has rained, we could do the interview and take the pictures inside the house itself.

Around 45 minutes later, we rang the bell.

The maid opens the door and says, “They are still sleeping.”

We decided to go away.

It leaves a sour taste in the mouth; to be treated as if we are intruders. In fact, we had come because of an appointment.

During the day, I call up Doc Paes and tell him about our visit.

He says, “You should have told the maid to wake us up. No problem. Tomorrow, same time; please come. Leander will be going to play golf.”

The next morning, Ashoke and I arrive again on the dot of seven at the Paes’ door. We ring the bell. The maid comes to the door. We ask for Leander knowing that today, a bright cloudy day, he would be up. But the maid again says that everyone is sleeping; she is too scared to awaken anyone.

She closes the door.

Ashoke and I look at each other. We are stupefied.

There is a balcony in front of Leander’s door. We move towards it and stand there. We don’t know what to say. Instead, we look at the buildings on either side. Leander stays in a middle-class locality.

There is a kirana shop, a bakery and a hair saloon nearby. There’s also a well-known ‘Mithai’ shop at the end of the street. The garbage is piled up at one end.

Ashoke lights a cigarette.

We move away from the balcony and sit down on the stairs.

“What do we do now?” I ask Ashoke.

“We have to wait. There is no option,” Ashoke says, blowing whorls of white smoke.

Minutes pass. Ashoke begins to tell stories from his career. Interesting stuff. Time passes.

At 7.30 a.m., we ring the bell. The maid opens the door. She says that before we could ask anything, that they are sleeping.

We groan.

We sit on the steps.

At 7.50 a.m. an elderly woman dressed in a red saree and wearing thick-lensed spectacles comes up the stairs. She takes out a key from her bag and tries to open the door. The door has been locked from the other side.

“Solid security," Ashok murmurs.

We ask her if she could tell Leander that we have come.

We are from Sportsworld, we explain.

“Sports Worlds” she repeats and nods.

The maid opens the door.

The other maid goes in. The door quickly closes. We continue to sit on the stairs.

We gaze at the cloudy sky. At 8.15 a.m., the door opens. It’s Leander. He’s groggy-eyed, clad in a blue t-shirt and bermuda shorts, and on bare feet.

“Hi, come in, come in,” he says, rubbing his eyes.

We are led into the drawing room and finally sit down on cushion chairs. Leander moves to the phone. He dials a number. He fixes up with Enrico Piperno, for a round of golf.

He says, “Would you like something to drink?”

We opt for cold glasses of water.

“Just give me ten minutes to get ready.” He goes out of the room. I look around. It’s a simple drawing room: a middle-class drawing room, rather than the drawing room of a wealthy young man.

There is a cabinet at one side, which contains trophies won by both father and son. On the centre table, there are lots of magazines: ‘Tennis.’ ‘India Today.’ ‘Cosmopolitan.’ One issue of ‘Sportsworld’—The Sourav Ganguly cover story. There is a thick coffee table book about Kenya.

Our dreaded enemy, the maid, comes with glasses of water. Behind me, on the grilled balcony, I can see Leander’s tennis whites — the shorts, the t-shirts, the socks — drying on a metal clothes rack. There’s an AC in the window.

At one corner of the drawing room, there are two plastic bowls containing dog food. Two bones are lying on the carpet. They have a white Pomeranian.

Leander comes out. He's carrying his golf bag. He looks fresh and ready. A shower has invigorated him. He is dressed in a white t-shirt, jean shorts and sneakers. He has a cap on. He tucks a Nokia cellular phone into the golf bag.

We go down the stairs. An air conditioned car is waiting. We get in. Straightaway, I take out my dictaphone, switch it on and the interview starts, as we set out for Tollygunge Club.

ON LIFE ON THE ATP TOUR

Can you describe your normal life as a touring pro on the ATP circuit?

Today is Friday. I leave on Wednesday to Singapore. There I have two days to start hitting the ball and getting ready for the Heineken Open. But I am really using it as a warm-up for the latter part of the year.

When you go to Singapore, who arranges the hotel accommodation?

I booked the hotel from Cal. Each tournament has their specified hotels. One is where the main draw players stay; the other is where the qualifiers stay. As far as I am concerned, I stay at the tournament hotel. The tournament pays for my room.

Do they pay for food, laundry etc.?

No chance. I have to pay for my food, my laundry, and my telephone calls. They just pay for the room. They pay for the first five days. After the first five days, if I am still in the tournament, they continue to pay the room rent. But if I am out of the tournament, then I start paying for the room.

What about the airfare from here to Singapore? Who pays for that?

I have to pay for that. All airfares are paid for by me. Except for the Davis Cup and say, if I am going to the Olympics or the Asian Games, then it is paid by the federations.

Do even players of the Top Ten, like Pete Sampras, pay their own airfare?

Yes. The advantage that Sampras and the other players have is that they get guarantee money for just showing up. Like last year, in the Dubai Open, Sampras got a million dollars just to show up. He then lost in the first round to Curry Malami and went on to the Australian Open. That created a big ruckus. So the guarantee money that they are getting, they are using it for their airfare. Agassi uses it to pay the fees when he parks his plane in a particular airport.

To what ranking is guarantee money given?

It depends on whether you are a crowd puller and whether the tournament really needs you there.

The Top 15 players get guarantee money for the big tournaments. Like, for example, the Super Nine tournament, where everybody gets guarantee money. If you are a superstar in your own country, you get guarantee money when you play the local tournaments.

Do you think, after your bronze medal win, you could get some guarantee money for Asian level tournaments?

No way. It just helps me to get wild cards, that’s all.

If you were to lose in the first round in Singapore, how much prize money would you get?

$1500. Then you pay taxes on it. Since you are a resident of another country, you pay a higher tax.

How much is the percentage?

Each place is different. Some are a good 10-15%. Some places like the Middle East and Monte Carlo are completely tax free.

Suppose you were to lose in the first round, what do you do after that? Since the next tournament hasn't begun as yet.

I stay around for a couple of days, practising and training at that tournament. Because the guys who play at the next tournament, only leave by Thursday, Friday. (Most tournaments start on a Monday).

What time is a match fixed in a tournament?

It depends. Sometimes, the match could be the first one of the day, that is, at 9 a.m. Or there could be a match after that. Or maybe after the second match. You simply have to go and do some warm-ups and wait for your match to start. Or you could play an evening show match, which would start at about 7 p.m.

What would your day be like if you had an evening match?

I get up. I go for a jog. I have breakfast. Then I do stretching exercises. This takes more than an hour. The idea is to loosen out your limbs. You work yourself into the day. You wake your body up, you get it stretched out, you get it ready.

If you have slept badly, and your back is sore, you get that looked after. If you have a stiff neck, you have to look after that. You have to look after these small things, because eventually, it makes a difference to your match.

All this you are doing on your own?

Well, now I have a trainer travelling with me, so I am lucky. Before that, I used to do it all by myself.

ON THE LONELINESS ON THE TOUR

I’ve been reading some articles about you in our office library. In them, I came across several instances where you kept mentioning about the loneliness of the Tour? How come the Yanks and the Europeans don’t feel this loneliness?

The Yanks have a good 50-60 players on the Tour. At different levels. Hence, they all travel together. They make a group and go out together. They are all friends. Sometimes, they even come from the same hometown. They have grown up together. The Europeans, even though they come from different countries, hang out together. The Australians hang out together.

So, being from India and that too, being one of the only Indian players on the circuit, who can afford to travel, it gets much tougher. Then you have to hang out with the Aussie group; or you hang out with the Yanks. The guys are all friendly and fun, but when push comes to shove, you know you are an outsider.

They make that clear to you?

I mean, you know it. Although I make friends easily. So, I have a lot of friends. I know a lot of the guys. They respect me and I respect them mutually.

But it makes a difference if you have a teammate from your own country who speaks the same language, has the same taste in food. It makes a helluva difference.

That’s why it’s great to have Mahesh Bhupathy along with me. We have similar likes and dislikes. We like to go to the same places to eat. We like the same types of food. We like to hang out together and play different games.

Check out the same women?

(Paes pretends that he didn’t hear the question and goes on) We like to play scrabble, backgammon. We go to see the same movies. It’s fun; it’s enjoyable. Basically, it gives you a sense of camaraderie. You know that there’s somebody who is watching your back and he knows that I am watching his back and want the best for him.

When you are suffering from too much loneliness, how do you tackle it?

My phone bills are unbelievably huge. That’s one of my main vices: the phone.

You can’t bear the empty room?

Being the sort of person I am, I love to call home. I love to call Aneesha, my friends. It helps me to stay in touch with them. Not only is all my business work done on the phone, or on the fax, I spend a lot of time on the phone.

These phone bills? Is it paid immediately? Or do you have an international credit card?

No, it’s paid immediately.

ON TENNIS GROUPIES

Is there something known as tennis groupies?

Oh, for sure.

Women hanging out in the hotel lobby, etc.?

You will be amazed at what fan following there is, for tennis. In the last six months, there’s been such an increase of men, women, children, groupies, just hanging around at the tournaments, hanging around the lounges, the restaurants. They know where the tennis players eat and they go and eat at the same restaurants. They make calls to the hotel. It’s amazing what goes on.

You can pick them up and all that?

Well, I mean, I guess, it’s possible. At the same time, that’s not one of my wants. For me, as a professional, it will distract me from the next day’s game. As it is, it is hard enough to perform consistently each day. So, if you start getting distracted by women, alcohol, drugs, different things like that, it just gets even tougher.

Do the other players pick up the ‘groupies’?

Sure, you have guys on the tour who have their girlfriends or who pick up some groupies for the week. You have that going on. At the same time there are guys who are very professional in what they do.

What about drugs on the tour? Is it a serious thing or not?

Well, to be honest I haven’t seen a whole lot of it. I have seen people use some recreational drugs, but not a whole lot of it. Like guys go to the disco, sit down together and just toke up. It’s not that it’s happening all the time. You get one or two players who are doing certain things. And you know who they are.

I wouldn’t mention their names even but you know who they are. If you are into it, you hang out with them. Otherwise, you stay as far the hell away from them.

Do you think it damages their game?

That’s not for me to judge. As far as I am concerned, I know that it will affect me. Hence, I wouldn’t try it. Really, it’s not something that I would like to do.

ON THE BREAK-UP OF HIS PARENTS’ MARRIAGE

Can I ask you a personal question?

Go for it man.

How old were you when your parents’ marriage broke up?

I was 12 years old. I had left for Madras to join BAT (Britannia Amritraj Tennis). I was a week in training, that’s when my Dad called and told me that Mum and he were separating. They were staying in different houses now. Then he wrote me a long letter, explaining everything.

What was your feeling then?

I was sad. For a whole month or so, I cried every day. As a kid, you tend to feel that it’s your fault. Then, when you start maturing, you realise that they are two grown up people, two adults, and as far as my parents go, they are two very strong people. They are caring people but I think they did something that they both wanted.

It’s very unfortunate to see two special people like that separate. Because they are such nice individuals themselves. Being their kid, I will always love them with all my heart. They are my Mom and my Dad, so no matter what they do, I will always love them.

Your sister Maria gave an interview about the effect of being a child in a marriage that breaks up. She sounded very hurt and bitter. Is it because that since you were the youngest, you didn’t feel it as much as your sisters?

See, at that moment in time, they understood it a lot more than I did. In fact, they helped explain it a little bit to me. At that time, I did not totally understand what was happening. I was only 12.

Regarding Maria’s anger… well, my sisters have their views. They are also the girls of the family. So they are much more sensitive to it. But it’s something that happens in life. It’s something that is happening a little more in India nowadays. We have to understand that it’s our parents’ decision and has got nothing to do with us.

You can rationalise about all this when you are older. But at age 12, were you able to explain it all away like that?

Without getting too personal and too explanatory about it, for me, basically, it was to concentrate on my life. I respected and loved my parents very much but I knew that I had to stand on my own two feet.

Looking back in a way, it was a good thing. I matured faster because there was a separation in the family. There’s no doubting that. You do tend to take on a lot more responsibilities. You do understand life as a totality much faster.

Much faster than people who have ordinary childhoods?

I wouldn’t like to generalise, but it seems like that.

—-

I feel bad that I ask such intimate questions. He answers very calmly but at certain moments, there is a catch in his throat. It’s not easy to be asked such private questions by a mere acquaintance and that too, on such a painful subject. I tell him, as the car reaches Tolly Club, “I hope you don’t mind me asking these personal questions.”

We step out of the car. He goes to the front seat to collect his golf bag.

He turns around, looks at me and says, with a keen, direct gaze, “Listen buddy, you can ask me anything. I don’t get fazed out any more. But if you asked me this question, when I was 12, then I would have broken down.”

A group of club workers are standing nearby. One of them, a young man in his early thirties, dressed in a white dhoti and a white towel, with a week’s stubble on his face, approaches and says that his mother has expired. Leander commiserates with him.

He moves to the dressing room. Within minutes, he comes out, wearing golf boots, with spikes on it. When he walks on the hard cemented floor, it makes a sound like falling rain. We talk some more.

ON PHILOSOPHY

What is your understanding of life?

I don’t know it all. I don’t think that I will ever know it all. I have found in my travels that people all over the world are looking for the same things. They are looking for a sense of happiness, a sense of fulfilment, in their jobs, their professions, their family life, their relationships.

They are looking at a sense of achieving something with their lives. I think people all over the world, even if they vary in their lifestyles, are looking at the same things.

Do you feel that you are lucky you don’t have to be in a screwed-up 9-5 job like most people?

Yes, I am lucky that I am doing something that I like doing. For one, it is my hobby. It is something which is closest to my heart and I am getting paid for doing it. There is no lifestyle like this.

Is tennis a very lucrative profession?

Yes. Tennis is a very high paying profession. I am earning and dealing with a lot more money than most people have. Hence, I have to be a lot more careful with it. I have to be a lot more systematic about it. The bigger your bank balance, the bigger your risks. You have to be a little more careful about it.

At an early age, tennis has taught me how to handle money; it’s taught me to be responsible for all my actions. Because, at the end of the day, I have to bear the consequences.

Has it made you a very individualistic person?

Yes. It has made me stubborn and individualistic in my beliefs. In a society that is opening up but still is very conservative.

Repressed?

No, conservative… I still stand out. People still do not agree with my ways. People still think that I am doing the wrong thing.

You mean people don’t think it right that you are earning a living as a tennis player?

Yes, there are people like that.

—

In the meantime, Rico Piperno has landed up. We all moved to the golf course, accompanied by two caddies. Leander places the ball on a small plastic cup, with a pointed tip, which he has pressed into the ground.

He stands in a relaxed manner. He looks at the ball; then he looks up at the flag a few hundred yards away. It’s a quiet, cloudy and humid morning. He takes a neat swing. The ball soars up in the air.

“Great shot,” Rico says.

Indeed, it is a fine shot.

It is Rico’s turn to take a shot. He stands, bending a little forward. He looks at the ball. His legs shake a little as he grips the iron tightly. His tongue sticks out. It’s funny, but he clearly looks like an elderly version of Billy Bunter. He takes a hard swing.

Both the cup and the ball rise three feet up in the air accompanied by a thick clump of grass and mud. The ball goes in a straight line and lands in a bunch of thick grass three yards away. Rico mutters the expletive that denotes the discharge from the anal region. We walk towards the balls.

Leander takes another fine shot. Rico looks at me and says, “You will be surprised to know that Lee is a better golfer than a tennis player. He’s damn good.”

Leander marches ahead.

I ask Rico about Leander. “He’s matured a lot. I played with him in New Haven in the US. That’s the first thing I noticed. How much he had matured. He is now at that stage, where he has to make a charge.”

“How far do you think he can go?” I ask.

“If he makes it to the Top 50, that would be great,” Rico says. He wipes the perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief. It’s extremely hot and humid.

“What’s happening to Calcutta? It’s getting worse day by day. I mean, I have come back from four comfortable months coaching in the United States and my kids fall sick. I have a cold. I can’t breathe at all.”

“It’s the pollution,” I say.

“Think about Lee,” he says. “Last year, he came back for a week and he ended up getting malaria. He can’t afford to get sick. What is all this talk of improving Calcutta?”

Rico shakes his head in disgust.

“It’s just talk,” I say.

Rico nods. Now he prepares to take a shot. I move up to talk with Leander.

ON FAME

Is it a good or a bad thing?

A mix of both.

What’s the good thing about it?

The good thing about it is you’re recognised. You have a lot of people congratulating you and appreciating your hard work and effort. A lot of doors open. I get to meet a lot of people because of my fame and profession.

You mean, you wouldn’t have met them in your normal life, if you weren’t famous?

Correct.

What’s the bad thing about fame?

I don’t have much of a private life. People are always intruding on my privacy. Every sportsman has a right to a private life, even though we are public figures.

I don’t think a sportsperson’s private life should be up for public discussion. Although, I really don’t mind what people say. I have learnt this the hard way. People will always talk. Especially when you are doing well. They want to put you down.

What do people talk about?

Simple things like starting rumours. Simple things like not appreciating the effort that I put into the game, just because of my private life.

They start talking about me not concentrating on my tennis, that I am goofing around, that since I have a girlfriend now, my efforts are channelised elsewhere. As far as I am concerned, as long as I am performing on the field, it doesn’t matter what I am doing in my private life.

ON THE FATHER-SON RELATIONSHIP

Your father has played a major role in your life. But in father-son relationships, there comes a time when sons feel that the fathers interfere too much.

As far as I am concerned, my dad has played a major role in my life. He has supported me in every little thing he could. He sacrificed a lot to support me because he saw the talent.

As far as the second part of your question goes, yes, there was a little uneasiness in the beginning because of the fact that I was spending a lot of time away and whenever we met, everything was business, business, business. I sometimes missed just the father being there.

Was there resentment of your father?

Well, it was a complicated relationship. We were having a father-son relationship and at the same time, there was a business relationship also. So, sometimes, it got really tough. There was a strain on the relationship, I have to admit that. There were arguments; there were differences of opinion.

At times, it must have gotten tough for him too. He was working on not only his own career as a doctor but at the same time, he was trying to organise my life. At the same time, he has to be a parent. He had to play many roles in one.

The relationship had also to be very carefully guarded. Because, there were so many people who were there to put a spoke in the wheel. That way, my father and myself have come through.

See, at the end of the day, I love my Dad. No matter what other people say about him, he has my best interests at heart. My dad’s a great guy, as far as I am concerned. I am very fond of him.

ON THE INDIAN PRESS

Do you think the Indian press has been very critical of you?

I think they have been very supportive of me. There's a mutual respect.

Has the attitude of the Indian press changed recently?

No, right throughout my career, the press has been supportive. I mean, sure, you are always going to get criticism but that is something you learn from. Some pressmen who write make sense. Basically, there are some you respect, and some you don’t.

Rico adds: People are always looking for scapegoats in our sportsmen. They jump to conclusions very easily.

What do you mean by that?

When you play professional sport, you do have your bad days. I have noticed that when a sportsman has a bad match, journalists tend to start writing him off. They say things like he’s not going to make it.

I have seen the same people who wrote Lee off, getting all excited about his bronze medal win at the Atlanta Olympics.

We have to be supportive, instead of being so critical?

Yes. You have to stand by him till his career comes to an end, and then you can judge him for what he is. Whether he put in the effort, whether he had the talent, whether he could have done better. After all, he is giving his best.

ON LOVE

What attracted you to Aneesha in the first place?

See, basically, we’ve grown up together. We’ve known each other from the age of five. She’s known me before I did well as a tennis player. So she treats me as Leander Paes the person and not Leander Paes the tennis player. That attracted me to her.

When did the sparks fly?

We’ve been going around for six years now. It’s been a fun relationship so far. She’s been through a lot during the relationship. She’s finished college in the States. I have been through a lot. Moved up the rankings. We’ve shared a lot of ups and downs. The main thing is that we respect each other and care a lot for each other.

Do you think childhood friendships are the most durable?

Relationships are really very strange. They might not work out for the best of people. They could work out for the worst of people, or vice versa. It’s something that you have to be basically lucky about.

PERSONAL IMPRESSIONS: ATP TOUR PLAYERS

What’s your personal impression of the ATP players?

I know some of them decently well. Some of them, I’ve only recently come to know. You get all sorts of different people. You see different attitudes, different ways of thinking. I think that is the charm of international tennis. You see so many different personalities… what I would dearly love to see the ATP do is to market all the different personalities, not just the Top Five guys.

You think there are much more personalities than the Top Ten guys?

It’s amazing what different types of personalities there are on the circuit. I think that’s something that golf markets really well. What I am trying to say is that tennis should be marketed as a sport. Not Sampras or Agassi the individual.

Not market the rivalries?

No, market the rivalries. That’s great. There should be more marketing of tennis as a whole than just a few players.

What is the common quality among the Top Ten players?

They have a tremendous sense of self-belief. A sort of self pride that is enormous.

A feeling that ‘I can do it’?

Yes, I can do it. I am better than everyone else. Basically, the qualities that they have, they believe in it tremendously. I think each one shows it in their own way. That is something to be admired. Each one behaves differently off the court. Some are relaxed; some are uptight; some are quiet; some are outgoing.

Among all these players, is Becker different from the rest? Have you interacted with him in any way?

I know him pretty well, as on a first-name basis. We say hi, we chat with each other. We have practised together a few times.

What sort of guy is he, off the court?

Becker is one of my favourite guys on the circuit.

For what reason?

He’s very natural. There’s no fakery with him. He says exactly what he believes in. He believes in his word tremendously. I think that's something very special. In all this limelight, in all this glamour, a lot of people say things for the sake of saying it. That's because we have to be very careful of what we say.

We are in positions where people are listening and people get affected by what we say.

People blow out of proportion things that you say?

Exactly. So, we have to be very watchful of what we say. We have to be careful of what kind of example we are setting for the kids of our country. It’s part of our responsibility to do so.

So, you find it rare that in this sort of situation, to come across a straight talking guy like Becker?

Yes. I find a lot of sportstars are, I shouldn’t say artificial, but quite cautious. They hold back a lot of what they want to say.

What do you see in somebody like Steffi Graf?

“You mean waist downwards or waist upwards,” asks Rico.

“Or both?” adds Leander.

(Laughter.)

“That’s on tape by the way,” Leander tells Rico.

“Steffi is very single-minded. She knows exactly what she wants and she knows how to get it. That’s something to admire about her.”

Apart from tremendous self-belief, what other qualities do these players have?

They have a way of winning. No matter what sticky situation they are in, they just find a way of winning.

ON INDIA’S PERENNIALLY POOR PERFORMANCE INTERNATIONALLY

Why don’t Indians do well on the circuit?

There are so many obstacles to overcome. There is a lack of money; lack of right facilities. Hence, we have to go abroad and train.

What about our mental make-up?

I think Indians as a people are very intelligent. Any game that is mental in terms of strategy, in terms of thinking power, in terms of patience, we are very very good. The minute the sport gets physical, we start to lose out. Hockey is the prime example. When it was on grass, we were champions.

Once it changed to a physical sport, we began struggling. Our disadvantage is that we don’t keep up with the times. Our systems, our coaching methods, are outdated. We are a good five to six years behind the rest of the world.

Our coaches don’t upgrade themselves?

Not only our coaches. Our methods of training. We need to rapidly change and keep up with what the rest of the world is doing. For example: take something like a gym. How many full-fledged gyms do we have in Calcutta? State of the art equipment. Answer: none.

—-

A breakfast of omelettes, bread, jam and butter comes up. Leander takes out his Nokia cellular phone and calls up his girlfriend. He is told that she is sleeping. It is 11.30 a.m.

The other person asks where he is calling from.

“Amma, I am calling from the golf course. I have just finished nine rounds of golf.”

Leander smiles at the exclamation of amazement at the other end, and adds, “No, don’t wake her up. I’ll call later.” He switches off the phone.

“We went to the disco. Came back at three a.m.” Leander tells Rico. “Aneesha is still sleeping.”

Rico said, “My wife used to be like that. She used to sleep till 12. But now, my kids wake her up at six o’clock. She’s got no chance to sleep late.”

Rico laughs out aloud.

ON ZEESHAN ALI

What do you think happened to Zeeshan Ali?

I can’t comment on that. He is one of my friends; he is one of my colleagues. As far as I am concerned, he did the best that he could. He reached a ranking of 120. That’s a fabulous achievement at the time that he was playing.

At the same time, it’s tough. I can understand how tough it is. His father must have found it very difficult to find the funds to travel on the circuit, to find a coach to help him out.

It shows what is happening in Indian sport, where individuals work hard and then get disheartened after a while. Because you suddenly realise that there’s no way else to go.

You don’t have better coaching; you are worrying how to get funds. A few of us are lucky because we are getting support, because we are getting results in certain areas.

Is it because Akhtar Ali did not have the elaborate system that your dad made for you?

I am no one to comment.

Rico Piperno: What Leander has had is a system. That should go out to the people and the administrators. If you pursue a system, a systematic way of training, a systematic way of pursuing a career, then there are possibilities.

If you look at Leander’s graph of the past 11 years, he spent five years in BAT, then he came out, his father asked him to travel for a couple of years; then he went for training with Harry Hopman in the US; he’s always had a support system. It may not be as much as he would like to have but there’s always been some kind of system. He had a programme worked out all the time.

Leander: Yes, there is a system and that’s why, these results are coming in. It’s not like going for a coaching camp for two months, and stopping training. It’s not like playing for two months and not having any tournaments to play for the next six months.

It’s not like going out and working really hard and then taking the rest of the year off and going partying and having a good time. There’s always been a continuous system that I have been working at.

That has been the weakness of Indian sport: that we have no system, isn’t it?

Exactly. There’s just short-term goals.

Do you think the AITA has a system?

(A small silence): Then Rico says smoothly: Nobody has a system in India at present. We need an eight-year programme, a ten-year programme. It has to be a continuous thing.

PLANS FOR THE FUTURE

For one, I am still pursuing my goals. I want to be the best person I can be and the best player that I can be.

—

Three months have gone past since the interview. In the interim, Leander Paes has not really shone. He’s had first round exits in both singles and doubles in most of the tournaments that he has played. Piperno had mentioned that Leander had come to the critical stage in his career. Now was the time when he had to make the push and make it to the Top 100. So far, the results have been disappointing.

I got the feeling, just an intuition while talking to him, that maybe Leander is not going to push stupendously hard and play out his skin any more. The competition at the international level is getting stiffer and stiffer. Also, by now, he must have realised that after his bronze medal win, his position in Indian sport is permanently fixed like Milkha Singh’s. He’s not going to fade away at all.

Whenever we will write about Indian sport, we will have to mention Paes’ bronze medal win. But I hope that I am absolutely wrong in this analysis.

I hope that secretly Leander Paes is developing and getting better and better. That one day, he will make a splendid impact at the Grand Slam level.

It is only then that he will live up to the cliched ad-line: It Paes To Be Leander.

(Published in Sportsworld, December 18, 1996)