“Very quiet this evening, Anil,” says Appa as he drops me off, on the dot, five minutes to six, in front of the karate studio.
“Is it?” I look out at the road, which is crowded and chaotic as usual.
He clucks at me. “Not MG Road. You. Is something bothering you, Anil?”
Traffic is already swerving around us. Drivers are honking their horns to let us know that we are in their way. One of them shouts at us, “Hurry up, hurry up, you think your mother-in-law owns the road?”
I could say that somebody is bothering me, not something. Luckily, there is no time for me to say anything at all.
I open the door and jump out. “Bye, Appa!” I yell in my best cheery voice.
Appa says every Indian city has a road called MG Road. All of them are named for Mahatma Gandhi, Father of the Nation. He was a peaceful person, right? So why is his road filled with so many angry drivers?
A motorbike whizzes at me, trying to overtake all the cars from the wrong side. Just in time, I leap out of the way.
It’s a relief to enter the dojo. Its calm settles on me like water sprinkling from a cool fountain. It makes me want to breathe it in.
Students hurry to get to their spots. I slip my sandals off and put them on the rack. I enter. I bow, which is what you always do when you step over that threshold. From his place at the head of the dojo, Kumar Sensei bows back.
I take my place. I spot Mohan at the far end of my row. Four people between us. That is a good thing. Although he wouldn’t dare bug me now. Not here.
We warm up, jogging in place, spinning our arms like fans. Soon I am breathing in, out, taking in the rhythm, following along. Switching arm directions … spin, spin, jog, jog. Here, I can be in my own space, with my body and the envelope of air around it. Jump, jump. Turn your hips.
“See your belt swing?” Kumar Sensei demonstrates the swinging belt to show we have done this right. We do push-ups. We count them in Japanese because Japan is where karate comes from. Ichi-ni-san-shi-go-roku …
We move on to forms. Kumar Sensei teaches us a new kata. He breaks it down to its steps like a slow dance. Then he shows us how to put the steps together so the whole thing flows from beginning to end.
“Always know where the ground is, and you will know where you are,” he says. He walks around. He nudges an arm so it aligns with the ground. He toggles another so it’s perpendicular to it. “Feel the ground beneath your feet. Remember that energy flows from earth, to us, to sky.”
Appa might say that is not how physics works, but I love it.
I am caught up in the class. Each round of exercise and form and practice follows the last. I’m taken aback when it’s break time already.
It’s hot! There’s air conditioning in the dojo, but I am sweating from all the exercise. I need a drink of water. I head for the cooler at the end of the room.
“Hey, Anil,” says a voice.
It’s Shankar. He’s a blue belt like me, and he’s a solar tech. Some martial arts schools group students by age, but I like how our dojo has kids and grown-ups all in the same class. Back in February, we raised money for Shankar’s solar tech training institute.
“Hi, Shankar,” I say. “What’s up?”
He sighs. “Wish I could say it’s all good,” he says. “You know about the hassles with the city?”
“No,” I say. “What hassles?”
“Well, I was really pleased because I got a job offer,” he answers. “A new solar panel plant needed quality-control people.”
“That’s wonderful, Shankar!” I say.
“It’s not so great,” he says. “That plant is in the worst possible location. Right by the ocean. I went for the interview, but they didn’t like the questions I was asking, and they turned me down. Then I found out that no other companies applied to build that factory.”
That doesn’t sound right. “Why not?”
“The application process is so impossible, no one knows how it works. So how did Sunshine Tech get the deal, I want to know.”
I’m dizzy trying to understand all this. “Short story, I’m unemployed,” he says sadly. “Apply, apply, I get no reply. A couple of my friends from solar tech training are going through the same experience.”
What? Impossible. How can this be? What about the Green Cities push? The Green Power Award. Green is everywhere, and Shankar and his friends can’t find jobs?
I have to talk to Yasmin and Reeni. Maybe we can also talk to Book Uncle, who helped us with books and advice when we were trying to support the solar techies. If only we three were on a team together …
Maybe I should say something sympathetic and also encouraging. While I’m choosing words, someone pushes past me, knocking me sideways. I nearly lose my balance.
Nearly, but not quite. Maybe it’s all the warming up and kata-learning. Maybe the bad news about the solar techs has me on edge. Out of pure instinct, my feet take a stance. No thought. My body works like a machine.
I wheel around. One fist pulls back. The other shoots out. My legs perform movements all by themselves.
What am I doing? Why can’t I stop myself?
It’s too late. Mohan goes flying. He lands on the floor with a thud. He lets out a wail they can probably hear all the way to Sri Lanka.
Our sensei appears next to me in seconds, as if he has beamed himself across the dojo. I can hear his words – Anger. Never. Fist. Blow. Never. Foot. Kick. Do you understand? – but his meaning falls together very, very slowly.
I get it, I get it. I know it! Why did I forget? Never use anger to land a blow. Never use anger in any move at all.
Did Mohan push me? Or was it an accident? I have to admit, I don’t know.
I am not an angry person. So why does Mohan always make me feel like I’m about to fly apart into little pieces?
Sensei makes us face each other and bow. We do. We must. Even Mohan knows this. Disrespect the sensei and you’re out. He reminds us of the dojo kun posted on the door, listing the principles every karateka must live by.
After the break, we spar in pairs. I notice that Kumar Sensei keeps Mohan and me far apart. I am grateful for this. I wish Mrs Rao would use the same strategy.
Excerpted with permission from The Sunshine Project, Uma Krishnaswami, illustrations by Chetan Sharma, Duckbill.
