THE mother of all martial arts, that’s what they call Kalarippayattu. But with a brown belt in Karate and long-time fascination with Kung-Fu and Taekwondo, I carried major baggage when I walked into Murugan P’s school Nithya Chaithanya Kalari in Delhi.

Murugan P and his pupil were doing the kachhakettal, or draping the kachha, the Kalari exponent’s traditional attire. “The kachha is the protector of the prana (life force),’’ intoned Murugan, “which is why it has to be tied the tightest around the navel.” Fair enough.

The next stage—uzhichil—had me intrigued, though. Uzhichil involves massaging the body with a special herbal oil. This comprises not only the use of the hands, but also the feet. Murugan told me that uzhichil, one of the most integral parts of Kalari, not only aids in the development of a good constitution, but also improves flexibility. “It promotes blood circulation, gets rid of excess fat and promotes manoeuvrability for all those twists and turns.”

Murugan and his students then started on a set of exercises and training methods, based mainly on animal movements. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before.

Kalari is distinct from, say, Karate because the participant is always relaxed and at ease, thanks mainly to the uzhichil. Unlike other martial arts which involve kicking, punching and blocking routines, the fundamental rule of Kalari is this—use your opponent’s energy to defend yourself.

One essentially defends by stepping aside from the attacker with swift movements and presence of mind; an art acquired after years of practice and meditation. Neat.

Moreover, there’s no end to training; it is, the gurus say, a way of life. But let me also add that it’s a pretty dangerous thing. A skilled practitioner can even kill someone by merely touching one of the body’s 12 vital points.

There are 96 other vulnerable points in the human body, said Murugan, application of force on which can render a person unconscious for a while. “But they are also used to heal, which is a very vital part of Kalari, since injuries are commonplace during the learning process.”

It was time now to take on Murugan. My first move was a side-kick which my relaxed opponent nonchalantly side-stepped. This was followed by a jumping front-kick at him. The end result was that Murugan casually grabbed my left foot and locked it.

I was nearly immobilised, as giggles emanated from the sidelines. An attack with a small stick also met more or less with the same fate. Murugan dodged, grabbed my wrist with his right hand, twisted it gently and turned my elbow with his left hand before locking me into submission yet again with his left leg.

The twisting hurt, making me all the more determined to score at least one hit against this unflappable master, who now handed me a small sword. And as if he had read my mind, Murugan’s casual attitude was replaced by rock-hard professionalism.

The end was swift—before I could even complete my lunge at him, he had me immobilised completely! A few round-house and front kicks from my end didn’t as much as even slightly ruffle him.

We parted ways sometime after this ignominious episode. The all-powerful master, and his formerly sceptical student, now a much wiser man. And the only baggage I had on the way out was a bruised ego.