July 11, 2021
I arrived at the location, a stone school building, opposite the Charni road station railway tracks, half hour before the class began on the first Monday in August. The guard told me that karate was on the ground floor just beyond the main entrance. I stepped onto a well-worn tiled stone floor. The room was high-ceilinged with a staircase at the far end, that lead to classrooms and offices. Paint was peeling off the walls. Young people walked through, mainly towards the main gate as their classes were ending. I saw a man in his late twenties wearing a karate uniform doing stretches in one corner towards the back. I stammered as I asked about the class. He looked coolly at me and took me to the back where a rugged male black belt was hitting a wooden post wrapped with cloth and nailed into an old car tire.
The black belt looked at my white hair. ‘How old are you? Do you have any health issues?’
I said, ’forty-three and the only health problem I have is fibroids in my uterus.’
He didn't want to discuss my fibroids and didn’t question me further. He indicated where I could sit to watch the class. Students, most quite young, bowed at the entrance and removed their shoes before they walked across the training area, even though the floor was very dusty. The class began at 7 pm, with what I would later learn was called junbi undo, a traditional warm up. People who were late ran in, bowed to the black belt who was teaching and joined the class. By 7:30 there must have been fifteen black belts and twenty-five other coloured belts there. After the warmup the black belt announced they would do kata today as Wednesday had been a holiday. Some youngsters looked disappointed while others delighted. I later learnt Fridays were usually sparring days. Everyone began to do the same set of movements. Around 8 pm, a short black belt came in from the back, the class became still, and everyone bowed to him. He began teaching. I guessed that it was Sensei Mistry. The forms being practiced looked complicated. After a bit the class was separated by belt colours. One group of white belts, close to where I was sitting, were being taught by a very young brown belt. She exuded confidence. Another black belt was teaching yellow and green belts another form, and Sensei Misty was teaching the brown and black belts.
At 8:30 the class got a water break and the kids, maybe eight in number, were picked up by their parents. The class was still quite large and continued for another half hour. Sensei Mistry had everyone do a kata called Sanchin. This felt very profound, and familiar—as if another self had known it in another time. Slowly I realized that some of the movements seemed like the ones I had seen in my dream. Throughout the evening I had felt drawn into the forms even as a part of me was sure I could never do them. I was terrible at body movement and could not learn even simple dance steps. These forms required co-ordination and dexterity. But even as I despaired about learning them, I knew I had to, and once I saw Sanchin being practiced I had no doubts left about joining the class. The dream had indeed called me.
The class ended, everyone scattered to change, and people began to leave. I was too shy to approach anyone and just sat there. The black belt who I had met before class came out in street clothes. ‘Still here,’ he said. ‘What did you think?’
‘Fascinating but seems difficult.’
‘Yes,’ he said and walked away.
I shouted, ‘How do I sign up?’.
He spun around. ‘You want to join?’
I nodded. His eyes widened and he introduced himself, then took me to a little room at the back and introduced me to Sensei Mistry. Several of the older, senior black belts were in the room with him. Sensei also asked how old I was and when I told him he smiled. ‘Welcome to the club we are all over 40 in here’. I wanted to say, but you are all black belts and have started younger. Instead, I asked if I could still learn. He said one could learn at any age—something I say to those asking me the same question now. He gave me directions on where to buy my uniform. My heart was pumping wildly as I pranced out of the dojo, a smile in my feet.
Sometimes I wonder, what if they had sparred that day? What if they hadn’t practiced Sanchin?
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