Shuttlecock shenanigans : Misstep turned mayhem

Life’s little joys often come with a hefty bill attached, they say. In my case, the receipt was stamped ‘implant surgery’ after a supposedly fun game of badminton left me limping all the way to the operating table.

At ZS, amidst the monotony of spreadsheets, we found solace in the chaos of friendly badminton matches (and the occasional embarrassing football game). Within our team’s sanctuary, it was all fun and games. However, when the time came for our epic showdown against our neighbouring team, the ‘Power Puff Girls,’ things took a wild turn.

In a weeklong saga of badminton boot-camp, we trained tirelessly in hopes of toppling the Power Puff Girls. Sweat-drenched shirts, sore muscles, and the occasional groan of pain punctuated our practice sessions. Nights became restless, and the mornings at work were akin to stumbling through a foggy haze.

Then, the fateful Saturday arrived. I managed to drag myself out of bed early—a remarkable feat for someone who typically embraces the warmth of the covers until noon. As we gathered for battle, a mix of nerves and anticipation coursed through my veins. With just half an hour until game time, we geared up and hit the court for warm-ups.

Barely two minutes into the warm-up, as Vats delicately dropped the birdie by the net, disaster struck. A misstep followed by a reminiscent sound of fabric rip and suddenly my left foot was wailing in agony.            

The tear and the agony that followed, should’ve been glaring red flags for me to call it quits. But no, I couldn’t just throw in the towel like that, could I? I limped back to the sidelines, only to find my foot puffing up like an angry balloon and my ankle staging a rebellion.

The whole team, bless their misguided souls, was rallying behind me, determined to nurse me back from the hobbling mess to being court-ready before the match. Zeni handed me an ankle sleeve while Avika gave me a foot massage and practically force-fed me a painkiller. With the pain somewhat dulled, I had a genius idea: get back out there for the match.

Knowing I couldn’t dance around the court like usual, I had to get creative, stretching my reach to the max without budging much. Surprisingly, it worked— we clinched the win. But as the adrenaline wore off, reality hit like a ton of bricks. My foot was now throbbing with a vengeance, and I could barely hobble back to the sidelines.

The following morning greeted me with a foot swollen to the size of a pineapple (I kid you not). Panicked, I hurried to the hospital, only to receive the grim diagnosis of a torn ligament in my left foot. What started as a mere inconvenience soon spiralled into a whirlwind of medical procedures. In the blink of an eye, I found myself graduating from a simple cast to undergoing major implant surgery to realign the dislocated bones in my left foot. Cue three weeks of mandatory bed rest—oh, the joys of injury!

The three weeks of enforced hibernation, where my only sidekick and fashion accessory was a trusty walker. From hobbling about with one shoe, to embracing the glamorous life of flying wheelchair class to and from Pune, and devouring an endless supply of fruits and health foods, my days blurred into a surreal mix of sloth-like lounging and steroid-induced weight gain. Ah, memories—ones I’d rather not revisit, if you catch my drift.

And so, as I gaze upon California’s serene landscape, pondering the state’s comically contradictory weather and life’s twists and turns, I can’t help but chuckle at the missteps fate dealt me—all sparked by an innocent Saturday and an interesting game of badminton. My footloose turned permanent scar, proves that shuttle-cock always has the last laugh!