Chess Wars in Thenkara: Childhood Rivalry to Life Lessons

First Moves: A Father’s Gift

I was probably around four and a half years old, and likely a handful for my parents. To ensure I started school sooner, they adjusted my date of birth by six months, enrolling me in first grade at ALP School in Mannarkkad. One evening, my father brought home a chessboard and taught me the moves. In our very first game, I won. That early victory might have inflated the ego of a young child. It took me nearly thirty years to realize my late father, Sankara, was a wonderful parent, and that win was his way of motivating me. I’ve since adopted his approach, sometimes letting my sons, Manu and Rishi, win when teaching them the rules of chess.

Village Life and the Battle for Electricity

Shortly after, we moved to Thenkara, a small village on the road to Silent Valley National Park. My brother, Sasi, and I attended the local government upper primary school, a good two to two-and-a-half kilometers walk from our home. When we first arrived, the village had no electricity. As I mentioned, Thenkara was close to Silent Valley, and the residents had successfully protested against a hydroelectric project on the Kunthipuzha River within the park. The Kerala State Electricity Board (KSEB) seemed to retaliate by withholding power. It took a long, persistent fight led by my father to finally bring electricity to the village. By then, I was in seventh grade. Although the school had a large yard, it was uneven, and an old, dilapidated open well stood in one corner. As a result, we were only allowed to play during physical training (PT) hours, under teacher supervision. Organized games like football were out of the question, and the school didn’t even have proper urinals. However, Sasi and I made up for it by creating our own games in the neighborhood. A few years ago, someone who lived there during that time wrote a Facebook post recalling how two “Kannadiga” boys introduced cricket to Thenkara. Later, someone else posted a photo of the electricity inauguration ceremony, where my father was speaking.

The World Chess Championship of Thenkara

This isn’t about my father, though. This is about the fierce chess rivalry between my brother, Sasi, and me. Those were the days of Karpov, and later, Kasparov. Before Viswanathan Anand, Indian chess greats were few and far between. I recall Pravin Thipsay and Divyendu Barua. What I vividly remember is how Sasi and I would toss a coin to decide who would play as Karpov. Then, our best-of-five, seven, or nine-game series would begin.

These matches usually followed my mother’s stern warning: “No more fighting!” But the “World Championship of Thenkara” invariably ended in a major quarrel. My father had bought us a chess book in Malayalam, which contained the rules of the game, along with a few opening, middle, and endgame strategies. The player losing against “Karpov” would inevitably start the argument—sometimes me, but more often, Sasi.

The dispute would center on the legality of a move. With no FIDE referees to intervene, our chess book served as judge and jury. However, the conflict never reached a proper judicial resolution. The losing player would inevitably sweep the board, scattering the pieces, and storm off in a huff. My mother, a strict disciplinarian, would then force the probable winner to collect the pieces and put the board away. The winner, too, would cry while gathering the pieces, much like Gukesh did after his recent World Championship victory, but mostly in pain.

Chess Across Generations

As we grew older, our chess rivalry faded, along with our passion for the game. Much later, I tried to teach my son, Manu, the rules. Manu was much smarter than I had been and grasped the game quickly. However, I wasn’t as patient or as effective a parent as my father. After one particularly frustrating game, Manu stormed out, and that marked the end of my chess coaching.

Much later, after Manu moved to Jindal for his graduation, we noticed he was constantly playing chess on his phone. Whether travelling with us or even at the dining table, his attention was often on the game. Yesterday morning, he accompanied me to Little Flower Zendo. He wanted to see where his “Papa” planned to live for the rest of his life. I had intended to take him sightseeing around Kodaikanal. However, the heavy rain had transformed the Little Flower Zendo waterfall into a roaring torrent, reminiscent of Niagara, and the surrounding mountains were completely obscured by mist. We stayed indoors, and he immersed himself in chess.com.

The Digital Chess Revolution

I watched him play for a while, and after one game, he explained the platform to me. He has a very good rating, indicating he’s quite an advanced player. On Chess.com, a rating of 2000+ is equivalent to a Grandmaster. I was impressed and encouraged him to participate in tournaments, suggesting it could enhance his portfolio for MBA applications. But Manu responded with Zen-like clarity. He explained that the difference between a rating of 1800 and 2000 in chess is as vast as the difference between the small hill in front of our Zendo and Mount Everest. In chess, you only improve your rating by defeating players with higher ratings, which is no easy feat. Moreover, he plays chess as a way to de-stress. If he were to play seriously, it would become a source of stress, not relief. It’s simply not easy.

Chess Champions and Mental Battles

Manu then spoke about the recent World Chess Championship. He had been following every game, minute by minute, on Chess.com. He pointed out how Ding Liren appeared crestfallen a microsecond after making a critical error, and how Gukesh cried, releasing the tension after securing his victory. According to Manu, Ding Liren is highly regarded in the chess world as a gentleman and a good human being. However, he had faced severe mental health challenges and had essentially stopped playing chess, which drastically impacted his ELO rating. Many expected him not to even participate in the final match. Yet, he showed up and played with remarkable resilience. Perhaps, if he had been in better mental health, he might have won again.

The second point Manu shared was even more insightful. He said, “Ding is almost like Viswanathan Anand. He’s one of the first players from China to compete in the Candidates or the World Chess Championship, just like Anand was from India. Gukesh, on the other hand, had the advantage of Anand’s guidance, having trained with him at WACA. In chess, advice and insights are crucial, especially the ability to recall them at the right moment.”

Chess as a Mirror to Mental Health

After that, Manu fell asleep, but I remained awake. I began researching Ding Liren. As someone who has experienced depression and stood on the edge of an abyss, I saw both him and Gukesh as modern-day Karpovs. The player with the black pieces was, and is, a reflection of the dark shades within our own minds.

Just a few months ago, Chessbase reported, “The Ding Liren of a few years ago, who reached a fantastic 2816 Elo, may not return. This is in the Chinese player’s own words, but what happened and what does this mean for the forthcoming title match? The opinions and rumour mill have been in full swing, and everyone, and we do mean everyone, has an opinion. In January 2023, the World Champion’s rating was still at a fantastic 2811, second only to Magnus Carlsen, but things have taken on a dark and dire drop and in the latest list he has plummeted to 2728.”

Furthermore, in an interview with a German newspaper, Ding Liren stated, and I quote, “Normally, a title like this boosts the ego. You feel great. It was different for you. You fell into a deep hole and were away for months.”

Ding Liren continued, “I had a few problems, that’s true. I was exhausted, but I still couldn’t sleep very well. That led to depression. I was treated twice in a clinic. Fortunately, things are slowly getting better again. Chess is mentally exhausting – and if you can’t sleep well, that’s fatal. At least I’ve been able to reduce my tablets from four a day to one at the moment.”

Finding Strength Beyond the Chessboard

The interviewer asked, “Are you the sensitive type? It was also said that you cried after winning the title.” Ding Liren responded, “Yes, the world championship duel lasted so long and was so exhausting. I did my best and after winning the title I thought about all the work I had done before the competition. The emotions and memories overwhelmed me. That’s why I had to cry.”

The interviewer followed up, “You are surprisingly open about your feelings. Doesn’t a professional athlete have to be tough on themselves and others?”

Ding Liren replied, “I was probably so tough before I had my mental problems. That’s why I suddenly showed emotions. Now I’m trying to become more balanced again.” He continued, “I now also have a doctor who helps me mentally. I discuss all sorts of things with him. I don’t have a mental coach like the table tennis players, who prepares you for the things that are relevant to the game.”

Life’s Deepest Checkmates

The next morning, Kodaikanal was bathed in bright sunshine, though the wind carried a sharper chill. Manu, Prakash (our Zendo manager), and I went for an outing. As Prakash described Suicide Point, located between the Three Pillar Rocks and Guna Caves, Manu asked why people would choose to end their lives by jumping into the abyss.

I explained, from personal experience, that when people suffer severe depression, they first plunge into the deep abyss of their own minds. Only when they find themselves unable to escape that internal darkness do they seek a physical escape. In those mental battles, where our dark side plays against us, no Sicilian or Slav defenses can offer protection. Those who survive, who manage to climb out of that mental abyss, typically have strong “seconds”—supportive loved ones, friends, and medical professionals.

The Greatest Victory

As we headed back home, I saw a quote from Ding Liren on FIDE’s Facebook page: “I think I played my best tournament of the year. It could be better, but considering yesterday’s lucky survival, it is a fair result to lose in the end. I have no regrets.”

While I feel immense pride in Gukesh, a fellow countryman, for achieving such a significant world stage victory at such a young age, what truly brings a smile to my heart is when a fellow human being triumphs over themselves in the arena of their own mind. No world championship is worth as much as the strength it takes to turn away from those low points, including the “suicide points” in our minds, and choose to face life and live on.

Your “Second” in Life’s Challenges: Coacharya

This journey through chess, from childhood rivalries to the world stage, highlights the power of mentorship and guidance. Just as Gukesh benefited from Anand’s wisdom, and Ding Liren found support in his doctor, we all need a “second” in our corner.

At Coacharya, we believe in empowering individuals with the tools and support they need to navigate life’s complexities. Whether you’re facing challenges in your career, relationships, or personal well-being, our coaching programs can provide the guidance and insights to help you reach your full potential. Discover how Coacharya can help you become the champion of your own life’s game. Visit our website or contact us today to learn more.

(And now, a whisper of something new… If these stories resonated, if they stirred a memory or sparked a thought, you might find kindred spirits within the pages of the author’s recently released book, “Fallen Flower, Fragrant Grass – An Anthology of Life Stories.” Discover more of life’s intricate complexities, now available on Amazon.)