Gillidanda, locally known as Lathekeje Lothe, was more than just a game; it’s a nostalgic connection to childhood. As I stumbled upon children engrossed in this ancient pastime, memories flooded back – a time when the joy of gillidanda defined our youthful days.
This game, with roots tracing back over 2500 years ago in the Indian subcontinent, was a cherished part of childhood. It’s disheartening to witness its decline, replaced by the allure of smart phones that captivate our children. The game, with its simple, yet profound essence, was a pastime that bound us together for hours.
The thrill of the game unfolded in harvested fields, kept open for grazing animals. I always remained inseparable from my gillidanda, and wherever children gathered, I’d join in, envisioning my small stick keeping scores of kids engaged until dusk. The evening twilight was the perfect setting for this game, far from courtyards or roads, requiring an open expanse to enjoy the thrill of the game.
Playing gillidanda in the fields brought magical moments, especially when elders joined in with their mighty shots. The lathekej (gilli) flying far, prompting us to throw it back to the hitting point, created lasting memories. Nature, not confined by walls, was our canvas for play.
Yet, dangers lurked, as I recall a courtyard incident where a mistimed shot hit by an ally, resulted in the lothe (danda) striking my forehead. The pain lingered, and the game lost its innocence. My mother’s fury and subsequent actions led to a neighbor’s scolding, marking the end of my gillidanda days.
Today, as adults, the desire to relive those moments lingers, but societal norms restrain us. We yearn to join children in the fields, but the fear of appearing absurd, holds us back. The glory of our childhood, spent in the pursuit of simple joys, has faded, leaving us with only memories.
In villages, glimpses of gillidanda persist, especially in late autumn. Children, scooping holes in the soil linearly, revive the charming memories of this fading tradition. The sun’s descent marks the beginning of play, accompanied by the sights and sounds of village life – smoke billowing, crows soaring, and cattle grazing – adding to the game’s allure.
Lathekeje Lothe, once a vibrant recreation of rural Kashmir, now battles obscurity against screen games. The enthusiasm, we once embraced it with, is lost on today’s children who are shielded from the healthful dust of this ancient pastime. As gillidanda fades, it’s a plea to preserve these cultural threads, weaving the simplicity and joy of traditional games into the fabric of our modern lives.
Come; let’s not altogether be unconcerned to our thrilling and blissful moments that link us to our roots. Let’s rather ring a bell to ourselves about how pleasurable, harmonious and gracious, it was to live in close proximity with Nature than sticking to the machines at the time.
The author is a regular GK contributor. He hails from Rafiabad, Sopore,