Art of flying kites & spinning tops gone

Rahul Yadav

MY wife and I were soaking in the sun on a chilly Sunday afternoon in our society park, watching the scene in front of us with curiosity as two young mothers along with their children were trying to fly a kite. Somehow the kite would just not lift off, but notwithstanding repeated failures, the young mothers did not give up. I walked towards them and adjusted the knots in the kite, but I knew it would be in vain as it was made of polythene and had a long tail. The kites were only for decorative purposes and not the ones we would fly as a child in the seventies.

The kites then were made of paper, with a riot of colour and accompanied by a charkhi and manja. There was a road in Calcutta lined with shops having rows and rows of kites. No other shop existed there. Whenever I used to travel on the road, my heart used to skip a beat and wished that my father would stop the scooter and let me buy the kites, but alas it was wishful thinking. I was given a quota of two kites per week, and straight after school, I used to run to the terrace in uniform to fly kites. When my mother would cajole me, I would fly the kite as high as possible, where it would become stable, and tie the other end on the water pipe before rushing down. I would keep watching the kite from the balcony and in a jiffy would grab some food and return to the terrace. 

Kite flying was a complex activity and had dedicated teams. Three or four boys were assigned the duty of retrieving the kite lost in combat with other kites and also the opponents’ kites, which were no less than a trophy. The team also had two specialists, one who tied the knot with precision and the other who would be an accomplished tree-climber.

My cousin was an avid kite-flying expert and was looked upon with awe by his circle of friends. So dedicated was he that he developed a habit of continuously blinking his eyes because of flying the kite against the sun. He is presently commander of the largest passenger aircraft and is never seen without his aviators lest he again becomes ‘Mr blinking eyes’!

The other passion during those days was tops. Every boy had a colourful top and thick thread, and whenever there was free time, out came the tops. Gradually, there would be four or five tops vying for the pole position. Here also, an expert would spin the top in his palm, place it on the table, back to his palm and again on the floor. The respect for boys was measured by the size of the top one could handle. Both these ‘extreme’ sports kept us detached from studies, but ensured that we had no free time! We always felt joyful and used to go off to sleep in 10 seconds flat. 

I suddenly realised that it has been ages since I have seen a kite shop. Tops too have just disappeared from the scene completely and have become extinct.