Poker, Dad, Goa

Saw this picture of me standing next to my dad, and guess it should be my favorite childhood photograph. We are both leaning on this Rajdoot bike that my dad rode, back when I was in middle school. We both smile pleasantly, a man and his son, on a weekend I suppose. It’s been well over a decade since the old man and myself took a trip, from Bangalore to Goa so that I could play in a few tournaments over that weekend. Back then, he and my mom would drive from Madras to Bangalore once in a while to visit with us. While, due to the severe varicose veins in his legs, he couldn’t walk much and experienced excruciating pain, he loved driving enough to undertake this Madras to Bangalore trip pretty religiously.

So, we took a flight to Goa and booked into one of those beach-side hotels/ home-stays where the main draw was the proximity to the beach, or maybe the fact that it was right on the beach. Anyway, it was over on the Bardez side. Now, not sure if we rented a bike or we rented a car. While severely restricted in his movements on foot, my dad liked to drive cars, and back in the day, his bike. Oh, I remember now. We rented a bike indeed. We would look for platforms from which he could hop onto the bike easily.

Now, the Friday action was good. We went to the Panjim jetty and boarded the boat to the offshore casino. While he struggled into the boat and onto the casino entrance, he was entirely at home once we were inside the casino. I got started with the MTT and he spent time at the slots after which he came over to the poker area where someone had given him a chair. All this time, a man who enjoyed his drink, he nursed it and appeared to enjoy the experience. I couldn’t have paid much attention, after all there was a first live MTT to contend with here. After finishing ITM and final table in a few online tournaments (PokerStars, I think), and following the stars play on ESPN, it was time for me to ante up at live tournaments. In hindsight it is easy to see how under-prepared I was. I had read a few books by that time, was playing three to four hours every night and was quite optimistic about my chances. As the number of tables reduced, my dad moved over a little closer where he could be closer to the action.

I was one of the two short stacks at the table, and it was the bubble before the final table. I do not remember other details very well but when I went all in against the other short stack, I had done my job. We flipped open the cards, and I was ahead. My opponent had only two outs – 7s. Another player at the table piped in saying he had folded the 7 of diamonds, and this left only the seven of hearts. Of course, poker aware readers know what happened next. River was seven of hearts, and although I stood up, shook hands and wandered over to where my dad was sitting, I was finding it hard to breathe. After explaining to him what had just happened, I said to nobody in particular that I could at least drink now. My dad nodded, and said something encouraging. I sat down and the conversation about having a drink appeared to make breathing a little easier.

What had been overlooked was a promise I had made to myself. It was that I wouldn’t drink. In the past few years of playing poker, I had learnt one thing. For me poker and alcohol didn’t go well together. But did the rule really apply after the day’s play was over? We agreed to leave the boat and head back to our room. After all it wasn’t going to be possible to stay on board after busting and not drink. As we were riding back from Panjim jetty to Bardez we saw a nice restaurant on the right. It is one of those well-known places (cannot recollect the name now, though). We sat down, dad placed his order. He checked if I was hungry, and man! Was I!? Gulped down some water and ordered food. Half way though this dinner, my dad checked again to see if I wouldn’t want a beer. I said, “May be later”. Through the meal, I spoke about the hand and in explaining it to my dad, convinced myself that it (seven of hearts) was indeed a bad beat – all our chips were in, and when that happened I was a 95% (and if we took the other player’s word, who had folded the seven of diamonds) then I was maybe 97, 98% favourite. My opponent hit his outer, and is just how it goes. In all this my dad spoke very little, but I knew he understood, being himself an avid rummy and 3-cards player. He asked me again about a beer, saying that I should relax and have a good time.

By now, I had a sense of what I ought to do. A few beers would be great, but I wasn’t still sure if it would affect my play the next day. Yes, by that time, we had decided that I would play the bigger buy-in tourney the next day as well. So, around 1 or 2 am we left the restaurant to where we were put up – right next to the beach. We found a platform just outside of the restaurant from where he could hop onto the bike, and it was a pleasant ride back. Of course, on reaching our room realized that sleeping was going to be an entirely different challenge. More than once I thought I should just go out and have a few drinks. When I shared this with my dad he said that he would accompany as well. For a long time, his sleep was anyway a very shallow one. Often, he would be curled up in bed holding or touching his ankle – it helped cope with the pain I suppose. Any deep sleep he would fall into would be just about day break. This meant that he started his work day relatively late. Now, it was something that got steadily worse. It started when he would wince while kick starting his Rajdoot, then I had taken over (from my sister it could have been) starting the bike in the mornings and wherever he went he found somebody who would ‘volunteer’ to kick-start the bike.  It reached a point when he couldn’t ride his bike and shifted to driving a car. He sold his bike to somebody he knew for what would have been, I am sure, simply a token amount of money.

Eventually, I tossed and turned rather than taking up the offer to go out for a drink. It must have been close to daybreak before I finally slept. By that evening, I was raring to go and take another shot at the tournament in the floating casino. As preparation, I went for a jog on the beach and it was beautiful. Bad beats such as these were bound to happen and it was all part of playing poker. Back after the refreshing jog, we got started and rode back to Panjim and took the boat to the casino. This time, at the Panjim jetty, the passage was smooth because my name was on the list already. Also found two other names I instantly recognized from graduate studies in Lucknow. How did it go…? In poker parlance, I ran good. For the longest time I was folding or going all-in. I had fewer, simpler decisions to make and having a supporter in a former classmate helped a great deal. I must have won numerous flips and been on the beneficiary side of somebody’s bad beat. But as folks who play poker already know, remembering these instances is a little trickier. They don’t spring to my mind as the ‘memorable’ seven of heart. Must have been the second or third player to bust in the final table. Got over to the cash counter and was immediately counted out the winnings. It was daybreak, and on the boat back to Panjim jetty, was happy telling my dad that our trip to Goa this weekend just got covered, expenses wise. He smiled. That boat ride felt amazing even though I was already falling asleep.

Now, most of this has been stowed away in some crevice of my brain. It was serendipity that just this last week, more than a dozen years on from the weekend with my dad in Goa described above, I just had to get some sun. It is one of the things you miss when you spend an entire day at the casino – the sun. So, I excused myself from the good folks at this poker tournament I was part of (not as a player, more as a researcher), and stepped onto the boat. As it started off initially toward the west, and then circled around toward the Panjim jetty, the beautiful evening sun over the Mandovi and hillocks beyond unfolded in the boat’s wake. It was surreal and reminded me of boat trip, more than a decade ago, with my old man. That time the sun was rising. To the outsider, Panjim is a city that wakes up somewhat late and starts its evening after its sunsets. That is ironic given how beautiful its sunsets are.

My dad passed away a few months back. Since our trip to Goa, the varicose veins situation steadily got worse. There were interludes where things got better. There were interludes when things got worse. I happened to see that photograph, a man and his son leaning on the Rajdoot, smiling. He was younger then than I am now. Wish I had thanked him for that trip to Goa, spoken about it a little more. Of course, there are a number of things I wish the clock could be turned back on. Crank it back a couple of decades back, and then it has us sitting in a car after he has parked it. I am telling him that there is something important I need to tell him.

“I like this girl.”

“Oh, that is great! It calls for a drink!”

He pulls out a glass and pours himself a drink. He has a sip, and then says,

“Does she like you?”

It’s a logical question, very pokeresque. While returning to her home after his funeral, my sister took a bunch his personal stuff – notebooks, watch, etc. – and hoped that they give her some comfort while remembering him. Now, I wish I had taken something too – maybe that photograph of us leaning on his bike.