Tigers ..... and Pythons

I should be at the stage of life where I have left all childish things behind me but I seem to be progressively getting more and more in touch with my inner child. Much of my recent reading could easily be classed as children’s literature for example. This was emphasised when I arrived home on Saturday evening with skinned knees that would have graced an excitable 7 year old. It also wasn’t difficult to see it coming – rugby training – hard ground – ball – run - tackle – ground – knees – ouch. Then repeat to ensure the full effect.

Whilst not entirely without sympathy (given her martial arts background) Mrs Reiver was a little disaffected that I had partially disabled myself for the long bank holiday weekend, when the multi-coloured big toe providing only limited visual entertainment. Perhaps I should take the Crocodile Dundee approach and rename myself the Tiger of Indiranger and regale visitors of how the tiger’s claws raked across my leg as I wrestled with it. In truth most of the wrestling involved at the rugby practice was verbal not physical. There seems to be something about the Indian psyche which means that even the most straightforward decisions cannot be taken without loud and very vigorous debate. The curious thing is that once things are resolved there is no hangover it’s just how things work – strangely like a street theatre version of the Monty Python argument sketch. I was given a book called ‘The Argumentative Indian’ for Christmas – I should get round to reading it to glean some insights.

India can seem remote from the real world and with my propensity for remaining childish I could become a lost boy in an Asian Neverland – maybe with a ticking tiger – plus of course a part for Lionel the Warthog. Growing up is always an option but as the rugby coach said to the rest of the twenty-somethings at training – ‘When you are in the pub you act like young men but on the pitch you act like old men’. I have always liked old men’s pubs – the ones without people - and so I will probably keep at it to provide some balance. After all cracked ribs mend magically in Neverland – well sadly they don’t, but my attempts to try and put my pants one handed without bending did at least bring a smile to Mrs Reivers face.