Rio 2016 Olympics: Happy culmination of hopeful dreams for two fathers

These were fathers who told their sons what Indian sport exactly and realistically looked like–complete with its politics and pettiness to go with the sweat and tears. However, as they embark on the first-ever journey for an Indian men’s doubles pairing in badminton headed to the Olympics, Sumeeth and Manu will have two of the loudest cheerleaders in their respective fathers. It’s a happy culmination of hopeful dreams for two fathers.

Finding salvation through son

The last time Chandra Bhasker Reddy saw his name in a newspaper, his character lay in shreds. He was dubbed an irresponsible coach – aside of a thorny bouquet of assorted brickbats. Reddy, a school athletics coach back then, was to chaperone some 30 young Hyderabad district team kids for a state schools meet to another Andhra district. The state sports authority organisers had forgotten to reserve train tickets of the young athletes, and parents present at the station to see off their children, turned on the lone coach who was to shepherd the lot, because no one had an assured berth to sit on. “Parents started shouting, a lot of nasty abuses were thrown at me, and the next day I was the villain in all vernacular newspapers. I knew they were concerned for their kids, but the newspaper criticism was aggressive and never considered my point of view or that I was assigned the responsibility of so many children when it was the work of 5-6 more teachers. The gaalis I got that day..” he recalls with a shudder.

Reddy would shun people the next few days not leaving his home, bear the brunt quietly and stew in shock and anger at the haplessness of his situation: the only recognisable face caught between furious parents and a reckless organisation. He swore off sport many a time in that period without actually giving up and finally settled on another resolve: “I decided that day that if I was destined to suffer so much in the name of coaching sport to other people’s children, I might as well coach my own children.” That day, Sumeeth Reddy (now 25) was marked to play sport.

Having spent his active sporting years running cross countries at Ranga Reddy district, before moving to Hyderabad as a PE at age 19, Reddy started coaching at several schools. His day that would end at 8 pm, would start at Nizam College at 5.30 am, his wife keeping the tiffin ready at 5. Elder son Srikanth dabbled at race walking till class 9, but was brilliant at studies. “I didn’t want to take the risk of putting him in sport then because his marks were good,” he says, knowing as coach the long, arduous journey that lay ahead of him as a parent of a sportsman. But then the unfortunate incident happened, and the younger son Sumeeth became the focus of all his attention.

Sumeeth travelled 120 km daily. “I’d drop him to Lakdi Ka Pul daily which was 30 km from my house, from where he would take a bus 30 km further. And back,” he remembers. Sumeeth studied at All Saints – which boasted a fine badminton team at the city’s famous Montfort Games. “Plus Gopi had recently returned from winning the All England. and started an academy soon after. It had to be badminton,” he recalls. The father, working on a salary of Rs 15,000 a month remembers stitching his son a cloth kitbag–those cost Rs 2000 back then. “Shoes too were Rs 2000 a pair. Sumeeth was a perceptive child, and didn’t want to burden us. I remember he would drag his left foot on the court holding on tightly with his toes because his shoes were torn and he didn’t want them to come apart.”

Even a racquet gutting was Rs 200 each time. Even his promotion as Physical Director didn’t significantly improve his remuneration.

CB Reddy remembers using his credentials as athletics coach just once. “The day after Gopi’s All England title, I went to a top academy at LB Stadium. But they were not ready to meet me, or many other parents because there was a mad rush. I walked up to the boxing coach and told him I coached athletics in school,” he remembers. “The only time it really helped!” he smiles. Of course, the wise father was passing on all the basics of athletics and fitness to his son, smoothing his movements, ensuring the kid ate right. The 120 km back-and-forth daily to Gopichand’s academy at Gachibowli would begin soon after.

A lower back-spine injury in 2010 when Sumeeth was the top-ranked junior in the country, would end the boy’s singles dreams. Nudged to play doubles by Gopichand, Sumeeth would approach the challenge with the same sincerity, an earnest kid who’d put his head down and learn the ropes–losing in the World Junior quarters. “He came home and wept. I told him, I only wanted my son to represent Hyderabad district successfully after the humiliation I went through. You’ve achieved much more than I expected. So just work hard as ever.”

It was only when Sumeeth paired up with Manu Attri, winning their first title within six months of forging the pairing and after they won their second national title that Reddy Sr told his son, he was ready to set the bar higher. The two would miss the Glasgow Games, but fight hard against World No 7 Chinese at the Asian Games. They’d become the first Indian pairing to make quarters at Asiad, and enter the US GPG final soon after.

“You know why I’m proud today? Because Olympic selection is the fairest– only relying on rankings. No politics, no partiality that I’ve seen so often in Indian sport,” Reddy Sr says wryly.

His darkest moments as coach, though, were when his weaker athletics wards walked up to him and told him brazenly that he was no good as coach if he couldn’t help them dope. Blood doping was just picking up then. “There are coaches who tell their athletes that they can never win without doping. They are on the wrong road and don’t think 30 years ahead when there’ll be lots of health issues. Most athletes who want to win by unfair means avoid coming to me. I also tell them I can only teach you running technique,” he says. Still, he mentored steeplechaser Baburao, sprinter Abdul Najeeb and runner Anusha nationally with great pride at various stages of their careers, and is content that his 5 am coaching at Nizam College has stayed clean all these years. He’s excited about his son headed to the pinnacle of sport, even as he serves his term – now a principal at a city school. “I think memories of that verbal abuse will be replaced now,” he smiles.

Attri Sr, no longer a reluctant father

Raja Ram was initially cynical of his son embracing the sport. Praveen Khanna

“What’s the point? At best, you’ll become a train TT if you play sport” Raja Ram Attri remembers the hugely discouraging line he would throw at his son Manu through his early teens. He bites his tongue recalling how he had allowed his slowly entrenched bitterness and disenchantment with Indian sport to come out like that, in those bileful pronouncements of son Manu Attri’s sporting dreams. “Thank god his mother, who had never played a sport, was around and never lost belief in backing our son,” he says, relieved that his cynicism hadn’t rubbed off.

Another jittery walk down the memory lane, leaves him desperately sad. “I almost cry when I think of how easily we sent off Manu at 14 to train at Thane. He was only a small boy,” he recalls. Leaving Meerut to stay in Maharashtra’s western satellite district of Mumbai, Thane to train all alone at Shrikant Vad’s Academy was a big call – then taken lightly by the father who was accustomed to seeing sports hostel students live in faraway SAI camps, away from homes.

The younger sibling of 400m national runner Jasbir Singh Attri, Raja Ram had followed in his brother’s footsteps, secured his NIS Diploma in 1987, joined the UP Sports Directorate a year later, and gone right upto becoming the national coach of the 4X400 relay team at the Asian Track & Field in 1992.

The quarter-mile quartet of Paramjit Kaur-B Beenamol-Jiji Mol-Jaspreet Bajwa had benefited from his own active running career as a 200-400 runner. However, as his family expanded and the young kids demanded his attention, Raja Ram cut short his Patiala stint and returned to Meerut. “It was a short stint, but unfinished business,” he recalls. But it was enough to give him a glimpse of how far an Indian sportsperson could go–an international meet or two, and a job with the Railways, at most. “At best, a TT,” he would repeat, even as his wife chided him for demoralising his son.

Manu, though loved sport. All manners of it: kabaddi, kho kho, cricket and even chess. Elder sister Sonal would enlist at the badminton court at the sports directorate campus but leave for dentistry. Manu following her to the courts, stuck on.

Once in Thane, Manu would pair up with Jishnu Sanyal, a talented southpaw from Assam, but was left in the lurch when Sanyal moved to another partner. “Once Gopi paired him with Sumeeth, I told him he should listen to the coach. As a coach myself I knew trust was important,” he recalls.

It was when Manu Attri and Sumeeth Reddy got into the top 64 that the father would begin to believe that something more than a lifetime of catching ticketless travellers awaited his son. “When they were in top 64, I told Manu, only when you come in Top 50 will I be happy. But I was happy and excited,” he concedes. Jacking his dream a little higher, he realised that a top 20 could ensure his son a ticket to the Olympics.

“But I realised he had to play many tournaments to bring his ranking up. That needed money,” he says. “I frankly didn’t know how much money was needed, but a Meerut commissioner heard of Manu and chipped in. I staked all my savings on him, because I knew this was the time to help him,” the father recalls of the remote ranking tournaments of last two-three years. Kenya, Nigeria, Maldives, Belgium. Even Brazil–though not the Olympics yet.

“They collected points and I knew as a sportsperson, that you have to spend before you see success.” Both boys were taught to not scurry for excuses and to take complete responsibility of their careers and choices. “No point complaining,” the father says.

Papa Attri was also beginning to admire his son’s game now. Arguably India’s most talented men’s doubles player currently, Manu boasted the rare combination of energy, strokeplay, explosive power and tactical brains. The father can’t get anough of Youtube replays – when Manu jumps, holds the shuttle for a second extra in flight, and then smashes. “It’s lovely to watch,” Attri Sr gushes.

Still, the father would keep his stern facade on, so that the son wouldn’t settle for smaller notches. “Men’s doubles is tough for Indians. Agar chhote tournament mein collar khada ho gaya toh mushkil ho jaega,” he would say. If Manu was satisfied with smaller titles, he would stagnate.

“My son’s come up this far without even a protein supplement,” he boasts, adding that his athletic base and lots of almonds sufficed. Loving badminton was a slow cook for the runner father. “But I’ve watched a lot of the sport now. I love the Koreans and how brilliant their defense is,” he says excitedly. “Indians keep smashing and they keep defending and then end it with a solid smash. Dekhne mein bahot mast lagta hai. I sit and watch for hours on Youtube,” he says.

At some point in time, Manu had nervously told his father to not come to the stadium and watch him play. “I would love to go to the Olympics and watch him in the stadium, but I am scared my presence will harm his focus. I don’t want to disturb him. I want him to win. I’ll watch on Youtube,” says the adoring father, punch pleased about where his son’s reached in life.