It was a perfect day on a Cambridge college playing field. The sun shone bright in a cloudless sky. Perfect for the annual school sports event, some might think, but not T.V.S. Ramanathan (name changed to protect identity and other moving body parts). Unmoved by the tranquil scene and lush expanse of freshly mowed green, he was upset. "How can they make these poor children sit in the sun without any shade? And what about us parents baking out here?" he fumed.
I had the feeling his concern limited itself to desis. "The sun is a vital source of Vitamin D," I soothed. He stared moodily at his little daughter rapidly turning into a crisp under her small sunhat.
"You did use sun cream, didn't you?" I asked.
"Children’s skin burns in ten minutes, and adults in twenty. Do you think anyone knows what SPF factor to use for Asian skins?" he grumbled.
"You mean like under eye concealers and foundations that are too pale? Anyway, they did tell the parents to bring parasols if they wanted to," I said.
T.V.S. Ramanathan did not possess a parasol.
His daughter Savithri Ramanathan waited along with four rows of girls at one end of the field, as perspiring teachers in shapeless flowery print dresses and floppy hats sprinted over the grounds like hopping bunnies to impart instructions. The finish line rope was held taut, and a genteel whistle blown. The race had begun.
Seven-year-old Savithri had got off to a dissatisfying start. Having already excelled at Science, English and Maths that year, she was clearly going to let the family down with her laboured skipping. I shot a look at T.V.S. Ramanthan’s brooding profile.
"Come on, Savithri! You can do it! Come on!" I yelled in the silence.
Heads swivelled in the hush, and a few hundred eyes pierced my flushed face. Then, as if in pointed rebuke, a thin ripple of applause concluded the race. The sound was like pattering rain, tremulous among the tall horse chestnut trees framing the grounds.
Savithri was next spotted in the 75 metre sprint. She finished first, but all eyes were on a dainty Chinese girl who fell and lost her shoe at the start, returned to retrieve it and finished last to the accompaniment of resounding applause from the parents. T.V.S. Ramanathan shook his head in disbelief. "Did you see that?" he asked. "They clapped for the loser, not for Savithri!" He bristled, "Do you know what the director general of the CBI told the House of Commons Education Select Committee yesterday? That he was shocked by the number of schools who no longer hold the traditional competitive sports day because they are afraid to identify any child as a loser. See! This is a loser society that doesn’t want its children to win!"
{{/usCountry}}Savithri was next spotted in the 75 metre sprint. She finished first, but all eyes were on a dainty Chinese girl who fell and lost her shoe at the start, returned to retrieve it and finished last to the accompaniment of resounding applause from the parents. T.V.S. Ramanathan shook his head in disbelief. "Did you see that?" he asked. "They clapped for the loser, not for Savithri!" He bristled, "Do you know what the director general of the CBI told the House of Commons Education Select Committee yesterday? That he was shocked by the number of schools who no longer hold the traditional competitive sports day because they are afraid to identify any child as a loser. See! This is a loser society that doesn’t want its children to win!"
{{/usCountry}}Several amiable, ambulatory sprints, sack and spoon races later, it was time for the mothers’ race. Savithri’s mother couldn’t get away from her hospital research for Sports Day, which was just as well, as she couldn’t have sped ahead of a shorts-clad pack of formidable ladies inspired by Chariots of Fire. Rumour has it they begin practising every spring.
Next, it was the father’s race. T.V.S. Subramanium returned trophyless after being elbowed out by the fathers of Jane, Emily, Sarah, Hannah, Lucy, Rachel, Claire, Charlotte, Rebecca, Rosie, Katie, Chloe, Jessica, Elizabeth, Amelia, Victoria and Alexandra.
Joined at last by their children, the parents began to unpack their wicker picnic hampers. By this time T.V.S. Ramanathan could take the blazing sun no more, and we retired to the pavilion next to an old cricket score board that said "198 Not Out". Like-minded families from the Indian subcontinent were already in occupation of the shade-blessed benches.
Changing trends
There are 19.8 million people in the UK aged 50 and over, and the research among 1,722 people aged 45-89 by OMD UK, a media agency, found that those who are 60 feel in the "prime of life" like their grandparents probably did when they were 40. Evviva Auntyji!
(Saumya Balsari is the author of a forthcoming comic novel, and wrote a play for Kali Theatre Company's Futures last year. She is currently writing a second novel, another play and multicultural stories for children. She holds a doctorate and works in London as a journalist.)