Striking out office monotony with carrom

Illustrated by Natasha Rahyiu

This is the second of two articles examining traditional games as a window into personal and family histories. Our marketing assistant Natasha interviewed her father Rahyiu to learn about carrom and its importance for camaraderie at his workplace.

Rainy nights carry with them a palpable sense of sentimentality. It's times like these that my father finds himself suddenly chatty. Hot mug of coffee in his hands, Rahyiu speaks about his past, his friends, and his life. 

I’ll never forget when he shared about carrom. Suddenly, this man of few words could not resist divulging his joy, reminiscing about this nostalgic game and the way it bonded him and his colleagues.  

Shuttered from the world in their cozy break room, my father and his fellow airplane technicians would play late into the night during breaks, between long hours on the job. The quiet evening would be interrupted by the sounds of cheers as one team successfully pocketed another piece, followed by the chaotic shuffling of chips as each game began anew.

This impromptu carrom game tradition started off easily enough. “We collect some money to buy the carrom board, then we got the spare time, or we finish our work... Then we play the game ah,” Rahyiu says. 

“What we do together, we enjoy together,” he adds. 

With its shiny, smooth lacquered wood board and intricate ink designs, the carrom board is striking at first glance. Similar to a game of billiards, players take turns hitting game pieces into pockets with a striker, also known as a ‘gundu’. Some variations of carrom require players to nab all the pieces, while others require them to reach a certain score.

Though digital versions of the game have cropped up in app stores to appeal to younger generations, the classic physical version remains favoured among professional players and those craving a traditional touch to their games, like my father, who’s earned a reputation as a carrom master among his colleagues. 

Asked how often he won games, Rahyiu, now 60, says, “Sometimes only! Because during my time, everyone is very good ah.”

With several skilled players, but only one board at work, Rahyiu and his colleagues made vying for a spot a game in itself. “Whoever lost, they get out uh,” says Rahyiu, “the winner will stay la, and play the game”. This round-robin style of gameplay evolved as a way of exciting the old folks and encouraging the new, younger employees to join in.

Inching into their twilight years, men like my father got to show off carrom skills they honed since they first played the game as children. 

Experienced players like Rahyiu will tell you that the gundu can make all the difference in a game, with its weight varying across years of wear and tear. 

Passionate players find it important to use a gundu that has the right smoothness, size, and weight to fit their fingers and strength. Rahyiu and some of his colleagues would cut pieces of plastic, sanding them down to create their own perfect gundus. 

Others would purchase their gundus at carrom shops, which seem to have dwindled or disappeared in the last decade or two. My father remembers seeing them still operate in the late 90s and early 2000s. To get an edge over others, players would even coat their gundus in oil or powder to make theirs slide across the board best.

Sadly, in the wake of physical restrictions brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic, and the office carrom board ending up too worn out for play, Rahyiu’s game group has become a relic of halcyon days. 

“Even nowadays there’s plenty of time but people like, don’t have the mood to play again,” he says sadly.

When asked if he’d ever dabbled in any other traditional games, he was quick to say no. “Always the same game, carrom.”

Not everyone in the office shared this same love for carrom and some played another traditional game, Dam, or as it is better known in the West, checkers. It was favoured by those with less of a predilection for rowdy cheering, says Rahyiu.

“Dam”, Rahyiu adds, pausing to scoff, “is for the old people.”

To read about community mahjong in the 1970s, our first article on traditional games, go here.