Life on the Chessboard: My Moves, My Way

I’m not sure about you, but in my home back then, when girls reached high school, it was almost expected that we would stop attending dance classes or taking part in physically demanding sports at school. Slowly, we were introduced to quieter forms of entertainment, board games like carrom and chess.

Looking back, I realize how many rules and limits were imposed on girls. Even laughing loudly was not exactly welcomed. I was the only one among my cousins who always got scolded by the elders, especially since I tended to laugh at things that others didn’t even find funny. Maybe because I had to swallow my laughter so often then, my kids now say I have the loudest laugh in our home!

Even playing cards was discouraged, with elders saying girls shouldn’t play. But I used to play with my mother’s younger sisters, who were closer to me in age than my mother, of course, in a locked room while my grandmother took her afternoon nap, and sometimes even late at night. With them, the games became lively, mischievous, and full of laughter.

My friendship with chess began long ago. My Papa introduced me to the game. I remember the gentle tap of the pieces on the old chessboard. The board had a faint, slightly musty smell. He would sit across from me, his fingers tracing the edges of the rook before making a move. I never thought then that those everyday moments would become my fondest memories of Papa, especially now that I am older than he was when we played.

The chessboard has eight rows and eight columns, making sixty-four squares. In spirituality, the number 8 stands for balance, eternity, and the endless flow of energy in life. Papa never said it, but he showed it. The game’s energy flowed from his patience to my memory, and in that flow, each piece holds a gentle wisdom.

On life’s chessboard, every piece has a lesson to teach:

The queen can go anywhere, any number of steps, basically the diva of the board, showing us we can do anything if we dare (really!).

The king is slow, careful, and always cautious, like that part of us that worries too much but somehow survives (slow and steady wins the race).

The rook goes straight and steady, a reminder that sometimes it pays to be a little boring and just keep moving forward (so unstoppable).

The bishop moves diagonally, because life often needs a sideways glance to spot opportunities (the savvy one).

The knight jumps around in weird L-shapes, proof that a little creativity or randomness can get you out of sticky spots (the unexpected savior!).

The humble pawn starts small and moves slowly, but with persistence, it can become a queen one day, proof that even the smallest among us can surprise the world (start small, dream big!).

Of all the above moves, I’ve always preferred the knight’s move. It’s more expressive—you don’t just move, you hop a little playfully. So, while I aim to be a queen, I want to be a queen with a knight’s heart. 🙂

Life has had its share of checkmate moments. The unexpected knee injury was one—a move that seemed to end my game, leaving me stranded with no good options. In that moment of shock, it felt like a final defeat.

Now I see it was the moment I learned the knight’s greatest lesson: when you can’t move forward, you must learn to jump. I was literally jumping on one leg then!

Somewhere along the way, technology entered the board. The pieces that once sat on my wooden board now live inside my laptop. My family is relieved. Otherwise, I would probably be nagging them to find time for a game.

Over the years, I’ve gathered quite a few boards: a mini version for travel, a plastic one for everyday play, and an ordinary cardboard one that has seen countless games and tea spills.

But my dream project is still waiting. I want to craft a chessboard from my old wooden teapoy, complete with pieces carved like small wooden dolls, each with a weight you can feel with every move.

In a world of pixels, I suppose I’m craving that undeniable, physical presence of the game. A board with a soul of its own. One of these days, I will. (hopefully!)

As I play chess on my laptop these days, I sometimes imagine that my old chessboard with my Papa is smiling somewhere, happy that I never stopped playing, with Papa cheering me on through each move. The pieces are pixels now, but the lessons, like life itself, remain timeless.

P.S. If you’ve never played chess, no worries. Life still teaches you strategy and patience by handing out twists, a few checkmates, and the occasional “aha!” moments. The board may look different, but the thrill, surprises, and a little “oops, did I really just do that?” courage stay the same. 🙂