Calcutta Boys’ School Annual Sports 2026 Practice Day at Gitanjali Stadium: A Father’s Long Journey from Beleghata

It was still dark outside when the alarm went off. Not the usual gentle wake-up, but one of those sharp, purposeful ones that tells you the day ahead is not ordinary. Our son had his Annual Sports practice session for Calcutta Boys’ School 2026, and the venue was Gitanjali Stadium near Ruby Hospital. From our home in Beleghata, that meant a proper cross-city journey, and we both knew it.I had already laid out his sports kit the night before white shirt, dark shorts, socks, shoes, water bottle, and that red-and-blue backpack he insists on carrying even for short events.

He was half-asleep when I woke him, but the moment he remembered it was sports practice day, a small spark appeared in his eyes. Kids have that strange energy for school events even when the rest of us are still calculating traffic.By the time we left the house, the city was only just stirring. Beleghata roads were relatively quiet at that hour, but I knew the real test would come once we hit the main arteries towards the eastern bypass side.

I had checked the route the previous night — multiple times. Still, the distance felt longer in my mind than it actually was. As a father, these school days come with a quiet pressure: reach on time, make sure he is comfortable, and somehow not look completely exhausted when other parents arrive looking fresh.The car ride was a mix of silence and small talk. He kept checking if we were late. I kept checking the time. Somewhere near the halfway point, the familiar Kolkata traffic began to build autos, buses, and the usual morning rush.

We managed to keep moving, but every red light felt personal. I kept telling myself that once we reached the stadium, the hectic part would be over. That turned out to be only half true.Gitanjali Stadium appeared in the distance with its long, sloping stands painted in blue and yellow. Even from outside, it has a certain presence. The field was already dotted with children in school uniforms. Some were walking in groups, others stood near the edges of the ground with their parents.

The air carried that particular mix of open-ground dust and the faint smell of cut grass. It felt like a proper sports day atmosphere, the kind schools create only a few times a year.We found a place to park and walked in. My son’s backpack bounced as he moved ahead of me, eager to join his friends. I followed a little slower, already looking for a spot in the gallery where I could sit and watch. The stands were not packed, but there were enough parents scattered across the seats to make it feel alive.

Some had brought newspapers, others were on their phones, and a few were already chatting with people they had clearly met at previous school events.The practice had not fully started when we arrived. Children were warming up in small groups. A few teachers moved between them, giving instructions. Our boy found his friends quickly that moment when a child spots his classmates and the parent becomes temporarily invisible. I smiled and let him go. There is a particular satisfaction in seeing your child step into his own space without needing you right beside him.I climbed into the gallery and found a seat that gave a decent view of the field. From up there, the stadium looked even larger.

The blue and yellow seats stretched in long rows, mostly empty but impressive. A few dogs wandered lazily on the outer parts of the ground, completely unbothered by the activity. In the distance, the high-rise buildings of the area rose against the overcast sky. It was a typical Kolkata day neither too hot nor too cool, with that soft grey light that makes everything look slightly muted.Practice began properly after some time. The children were called into formation. Warm-up exercises started stretches, light jogging, basic drills. From the gallery, it all looked organised and calm.

My son was somewhere in the middle of the group, moving with the others. I tried to keep my eyes on him, the way most parents do, even when there are dozens of children in similar uniforms. Every now and then he would glance towards the stands, and I would raise a hand. Small signals that say “I am here.”Around me, other parents were settling in. Some had come from even farther than Beleghata. Conversations floated — about traffic, about other school events, about how the main sports day would be. One father was talking about how his son had been practising at home for the races. Another mother was worried about the weather. Looking back, that conversation feels almost prophetic.The sky had been cloudy since morning, but none of us expected the rain to come so quickly. It started as a light drizzle, the kind you can ignore for a few minutes. Then it thickened. Within no time, the field began to darken with wet patches. The teachers paused the activity.

There was a short discussion among the staff near the centre of the ground. Then the decision was made practice would stop.What followed was a familiar kind of organised urgency. Teachers started calling parents. Mobile phones came out. Messages and calls went around. “Practice is stopped because of rain. Please collect your child.” The gallery, which had been relatively relaxed, suddenly became active. Parents stood up, gathered their things, and began moving towards the field or the exit points.I received the call while still sitting in the gallery. The message was clear and polite, the way school staff usually handle these situations. I made my way down. On the ground, children were being gathered. Some looked disappointed that the session had ended so soon. Others seemed almost relieved rain has a way of turning a practice day into an unexpected holiday. Our son spotted me and came over. His uniform was slightly damp, his backpack still on. He did not look too upset, which made the whole thing easier. The next twenty minutes were a bit chaotic in the best possible way. Parents locating their children, teachers making sure no one was left behind, umbrellas opening, and people walking carefully on the now-wet ground. The dogs that had been resting earlier had also moved to drier spots. In the background, the blue and yellow stands looked darker under the rain. It was not the practice day anyone had planned, but it was being handled with care.We did not stay long after that. The school had done the responsible thing by stopping early, and there was no point in hanging around once the children were released. On the way back to the car, my son talked about the short time he had spent with his friends. He mentioned a couple of drills they had managed to do before the rain. In his version of the story, it still counted as a proper sports practice day. Children have a remarkable ability to take incomplete events and still find something good in them.The drive back to Beleghata felt lighter than the morning journey. The urgency was gone. Traffic was still there, but it no longer carried the same weight. We stopped once for something to drink. He sat in the back seat, backpack beside him, occasionally looking out at the rain-soaked roads. I kept thinking about how these school events, even the ones that get cut short, become small markers in a child’s year. Annual Sports is not just about the races and the medals. It is also about these practice days, the early mornings, the travel, and the shared experience between parent and child.By the time we reached home, the rain had almost stopped. The day had been hectic — no doubt about that. Leaving Beleghata early, navigating traffic, sitting in the gallery, and then suddenly packing up because of the weather. Yet when I look back at it now, what stays is not the tiredness. It is the image of the stadium with its blue and yellow seats, the children moving on the field, my son walking ahead with his backpack, and the quiet satisfaction of having been there on time.These moments do not always go according to plan. Sometimes rain decides the schedule. Sometimes the practice is shorter than expected. But the effort of showing up still matters. For the school, it was a necessary safety call. For the children, it was still a day out of the classroom. For a father who travelled from Beleghata, it was a day that felt long, a little tiring, and, in the end, completely worth it.Now we wait for the main Annual Sports day. Hopefully the weather will be kinder then. Until that day, this practice session at Gitanjali Stadium remains a small but clear memory of rain, of blue and yellow stands, of a rushed morning that still managed to feel like part of something larger.