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Journalism of Courage
To the former British planters of Munnar, rugby was what cricket is today 8212; a passion. In fact, it was said that there was no other planting district in India where the game was played with such vigour and verve.
The High Range Rugby Football Club HRRFC had a truly active membership consisting of rough and tough young planters 8220;who didn8217;t mind a bloodied nose8221; as a veteran 8212; himself pug-nosed thanks to a rugby tackle 8212; aptly put it. Many of them rode for as long as two hours from their distant estates to attend evening practice at Munnar and then returned the same night, only to come back the next evening for another practice session. Such was their enthusiasm. To encourage them, their employers even sanctioned 8216;Rugby Leave8217;.
A horrified Indian, watching the game for the first time, termed it 8220;an organised riot8221;. A young novice was told that he could be tackled only if he had the ball. Finding two brawny opponents thundering behind him in hot pursuit, he quickly tossed the ball to a team-mate, believing he couldn8217;t be tackled. However, his pursuers had already launched themselves at him and couldn8217;t stop their flight in mid-air.
He was unceremoniously grounded and crushed. Few emerged from a tackle unscathed.
Spills, sprawls, sprains and splints were all part of the game. But injuries and defeat were cheerfully brushed aside, the liquor-fuelled and high-spirited revelry that followed helping to promote bonhomie and salve any hard feelings.
With the gradual departure of the Brits, interest in rugby waned. And on August 12, 1972, the HRRFC was formally wound up. This was followed, inevitably, by a boozy get-together of several veterans, 8220;battle-scarred but still kicking!8221; as one of them wryly observed.
