E-Paper
Childhood memories come rolling back with marbles
Spice of Life: The permission to play with his highly prized possession for a fixed time was granted only after I secretly completed his homework
While decluttering our attic, my mom showed me a container full of marbles, asking me if they were of any use or should she chuck them away into the dustbin.
Spreading them all over the floor elicited a wide smile on my face and I was reminded how during our childhood, my elder sibling and I would vie for garnering them. We played different games related to marbles, including ‘Kalli Jotta’ in which one made a blind guess if the number of marbles in the opponent’s tightly clenched fist was odd or even. The game, ‘Nishana’, was equally popular, more about hitting the aimed marble standing behind a marked line. However, nothing compared the thrill of indulging in ‘Pill Goli’, which children of all ages enjoyed. The player would sit down on the heels keeping the thumb on the ground with an upright outstretched palm. Having closed one eye, the player would bend the middle finger, holding one marble backwards with the aid of the index finger of the other hand to send the marble rolling along the ground. Taking turns, players would repeatedly squat to flick their respective marbles to shoot the opponent’s marbles off the way and rise again only to reach them right into the middle of a desired hole. Making a ‘pill/khutti (hole)’ in the earth was not everyone’s cup of tea. We had a specialist kid, Pintu, who was a master at digging a perfect hole, employing the sharp edge of a screwdriver; whose depth should neither be too deep nor too shallow, mouth not too wide nor too constricted.
Our hard-won marbles would go clinking down the redundant transparent plastic jars, serving the dual purpose of keeping a close watch on their count besides making our peers envious of their ever-rising level.
Losing our marbles even if we lost a single marble came as no surprise. Untimely rain failed to pour cold water on our spirited fervour thanks to an indoor game devised indigenously. By the flick of our fingers with a sudden, quick, and vigorous twist, we set our respective marbles to spin round and round on the floor to check whose marble turned for a longer time, using a stopwatch.
Our full control on the game often caused our little minds to reflect as to why marbles couldn’t be India’s national game with an overt wish to win the coveted World Cup for our country.
Over time, my sibling began using a bigger carry bag to accommodate more marbles at one place. Jealous, I failed to restrain myself from secretly lifting a few of his collection. The effectiveness of this rewarding short-cut egged me on, and I continued with the immoral practice until my sceptic brother once caught me unawares. Consequently, he kept half of his treasure-trove under lock and key, and the rest meant for playing remained before his eyes as a rule.
One day, he came roaring, waving aloft a scintillating milky-white marble, nicknamed Chittu. He had just won that deemed ‘Kohinoor’ for its contrastingly appealing shade among other dark-coloured glass balls. The permission to play with his highly prized possession for a fixed time was granted only after I secretly completed his homework.
Having spotted the same Kohinoor after ages as my hands drew back the scattered marbles, I was consumed with nostalgia, charming me into sending the picture of ‘Chittu’ to my brother’s phone. A quick reply from his side proved that the whirligig of time had detached his close association with his most treasured possession. His reply was, “What is it? In meeting, talk later.” unsharma3116@gmail.com
The writer is a freelance contributor based in Una
