There was a boy called Subru in Kanmani’s class. The students made fun of his rotund appearance and coined creative nicknames. When the teacher showed the class a globe and asked them what it was, someone yelled, “Subru!” The name “Globe” stuck, much to his dismay.

Unlike boys his age, Subru did not enjoy climbing trees or running races. His mother, Radha Ammal, ran a successful catering business in Maaripuram. This ensured a limitless supply of delectable treats for Subru’s insatiable sweet tooth, adding yet another nickname, “Laddu”. During one Tamil lesson, the class had to compose an essay on their favourite god. Kanmani wrote about Maaripuram’s Mariatha, as did ninety per cent of the students. Subru was the only one to write about Pillaiyar, the elephant-faced god, also known as Ganesha, who had an unapologetic love for sweet treats. When the teacher read out his essay, there were loud guffaws.

Some people have the talent for inviting ridicule upon them, Kanmani thought.

Kanmani smoothened her green silk pavadai and jingled her glass bangles. She was ready to accompany her grandparents to a baby’s cradle ceremony. On this occasion, the parents laid their newborn in a flower-decorated cradle and introduced him to the villagers. The best part came after that – the feasting – and Thatha did not want to be late for that. They made their way to the festive house, bustling with people. Thatha and Paati went indoors to see the baby.

Kanmani spotted Seetha, who gesticulated frantically. “They have put up a swing on a tree for us.”

Many children were jostling for their turn. At the head of the line stood a familiar face.

“Hi Subru!” Kanmani called out.

“Hi, girls! Today, Amma is catering for the feast here. There are at least three courses on the menu,” Subru beamed.

“Yummy!”

“Subru, it’s your turn.”

He headed towards the swing and sat on it. It creaked heavily under his weight. Ignoring the warning noises, he swung while everyone cheered.

“Higher, higher!”

“What’s that splitting sound?”

C R A S H!

The swing’s rope snapped in two, bruising Subru’s body and his self-esteem.

“Oh, Mariatha! Globe has fallen,” Seetha exclaimed.

The girls rushed to his side to help him. When they made sure he wasn’t hurt (but only humiliated), they burst out laughing.

“They tell us to break records but Globe breaks swings,” Seetha joked. Kanmani hushed her.

Is that a tear in Subru’s eye? Boys don’t cry, do they? They didn’t see him afterwards, not even for the scrumptious banana leaf feast. The food was the talk of the village, and the swing incident was forgotten.

“Paati, do men cry?”

“Of course, they do! Your grandfather cried when your father and aunts were born.”

“Did not!” Thatha protested as Paati rolled her eyes. She placed fluffy steamed idlis on the table for breakfast.

“Do you know what would go great with these idlis? Coconut chutney,” he sighed, licking his lips.

“Radha makes mouth-watering chutney. Kanmani, can you cycle to her place and get us some?”

“Well, the weather is great for cycling, and I love chutney. I will go.”

Kanmani set off, pedalling past the lily pond which was in bloom with dragonflies hovering around. As she approached Subru’s yard with her jingling steel tiffin carrier, an unusual sight greeted her. Subru’s father, Parthiban, was making him exercise.

“Appa, I am dying! You made me run three rounds in the fields,” Subru whined.

“Son, we need to try harder. You are not taking this seriously,” Parthiban chided.

“I don’t want to lose weight. I hate exercise!”

Witnessing her friend’s meltdown was embarrassing. Kanmani shifted uneasily, wondering if she should retreat quietly. No chutney was worth it.

Too late!

Subru spotted her and looked mortified. Avoiding his gaze, Kanmani proceeded indoors and asked Radha Athai for chutney. She filled her carrier with it and cycled away as fast as she could.

Assembly was noisy as usual, with shuffling feet and high-pitched whispering. The teachers silenced the restless students, urging them to pay attention. The principal took to the dais and cleared his throat.

“Good morning, students! I have an announcement to make. Our new PE teacher, Mr Damodaran, has joined us today. His son Sreejith will be studying with us.”

The children craned their necks to peek at the newcomers. While Damodaran Sir was tall and athletic, exuding the aura of a physical education teacher, Sreejith was a boy of small build with braces fitted onto his left leg.

“Oh, Mariatha! Another boy! My gut tells me he won’t be in our section,” remarked Seetha.

Seetha’s instinct was completely wrong. Sreejith was indeed in their section. After a quick introduction, he chose a seat at the back, and the students returned to their books, the excitement over the newcomer having died down. Two periods later, they had their first class with Damodaran Sir.

“Students, the annual football and kabaddi matches are coming up. We need to run selection trials,” he announced.

While most of the class eagerly scrambled to the grounds, Subru wondered what trials and tribulations he must endure before the new teacher left him alone.

Two years ago, on Sports Day, he had participated in a running race. By the time he huffed and puffed to the finish line, no one knew if he had won the second race or lost the first. Thus ended his short-lived tryst with sports.

“I have a tummy ache,” Subru lied.

Sir nodded, excusing him, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

That’s when he noticed he wasn’t alone. Sreejith had stayed back, too.

Would he tattle to his father? Uh-Oh!

Kanmani trudged into class, tired and sweating after an intense hour of kabaddi. An odd sight greeted her – Subru and Sreejith huddled over a book.

“How is your stomach?” she asked her classmate pointedly.

“Err…better.”

“Sreejith, why didn’t you join us? We had fun!”

“Didn’t want to embarrass my Pa,” he shrugged.

“Don’t say that! What happened to your leg?” she asked softly.

“I was born with one leg shorter than the other. I need braces to walk and can’t run.”

An awkward silence followed. Kanmani decided to change the subject.

“What’s that book you are reading?” she asked.

“It’s about the Paralympics, an Olympics for athletes with disabilities giving them a chance to compete in various sports. For example, football can be played in special wheelchairs. They call it power football.”

“That’s interesting!”

Meanwhile, the rest of the class trooped in, one by one.

The school bell rang, signalling the lunch break.

“Oh, Mariatha! I am so hungry,” Seetha exclaimed, collapsing into her seat. “I can’t wait for lunch. Today is lemon rice day.”

“Amma packed some sweets. Would the three of you want to share with me?” Subru asked, extracting a box filled with glossy sweet halwa.

Seetha agreed without the slightest hesitation.

“Whatever happened to ‘boys are the worst’?” demanded Kanmani.

“Any rule in life can be relaxed for halwa,” she replied smugly.

For the inter-school matches, Maaripuram Primary School (MPS) would be competing against Eesapuram Primary School (EPS) from the neighbouring town. A list was put up on the school noticeboard announcing the names of the football team (boys) and the kabaddi team (girls). Kanmani hadn’t made it to the kabaddi team, but Seetha had.

The notice sent the school into a tizzy. It was anything that everyone talked about. Thanks to the hustle and bustle, Subru retreated to his favourite corner. Sreejith, on the other hand, seemed dejected.

“What’s wrong?” Kanmani prodded.

“Pa breathes and dreams of sports. Do you know that he was once a state-level football player? He had to give up his career to focus on me,” he stated sadly.

Kanmani pondered over the unfairness of the situation.

Subru didn’t care for the upcoming match in the slightest. Sreejith, on the other hand, was passionate about sports, but couldn’t participate. If only there were something they could do. But what?

That’s when she had a brainwave!

She took Subru aside. “Do you remember wheelchair football from the Paralympics book? Your father runs a workshop, doesn’t he? Could he help build something with spare wheels?”

“I’m not sure if he can, but even then, how is Sreejith going to participate in the match?”

“Forget the match. We can at least give him a feel for football. Can’t we?”

“Appa, can you help me build a wheelchair?” Subru asked.

“Why? Does Your Highness want to give up walking now?” Parthiban snorted.

“No. My friend Sreejith has a limp. I want to help him play football. A wheelchair would be perfect.”

Parthiban scratched his head. “Son, I think there are fully automated wheelchairs available.”

“But they are expensive, and we don’t know where they are sold. Can’t we help Sreejith experience the magic of sports?”

“Magic? Sports? Who are you, and what have you done to my son Subru?”

“Appa, I’m just helping a friend.”

Parthiban was silent.

“If this works, I’ll also play football with him. That way, I’ll get my exercise and help Sreejith achieve his dream. It’s like two stones aimed at one mango.”

Parthiban chuckled. His son seemed to have inherited the negotiation gene from Radha.

“I’ll try, young man. But no promises!”

Excerpted with permission from Kanmani And Co.: Five Friends (and a Cat) Tackle the World, Lalitha Ramanathan, Scholastic India.