You won’t find Rehmuddin Shaikh Road on any map of Mumbai. Which isn’t surprising, because it is not an official name given by the city administration. But it is there, a metal signboard affixed to a post at the top of a narrow lane between huts in Ambedkar Nagar, Colaba, hidden away behind posh Cuffe Parade.
The name on the board is that of a young man, all of 27, who actually grew up in one of the shacks and still lives here. Rehmuddin Shaikh is, as unlikely as it seems, a rugby star. Chatting with The Hindu , he says, smiling, “Mother feels proud that I made a name for myself through rugby.”
The signpost is not official, at least not any more than the slum is. It is an initiative by an organisation called Door Step School, which works in slums, trying to convince reluctant parents to enrol small children in balwadi s (primary schools).
Life was not easy
Mr. Shaikh’s family hails from Gulbarga in Karnataka. Life there was tough, he remembers. “Our parents helped in harvesting crops, food was kanji [rice water] collected by mother from different places. Sometimes, we were given toddy for dinner so that we would sleep quickly.”
The family came to Mumbai hoping for a more stable income, a better life. But things weren’t much easier. Both his parents found work at the Sassoon Docks, cleaning fish, and he remembers that he and his brothers worked at whatever jobs they could get even as little children.
In 1993, the toddler joined the Door Step School, Colaba. “With great difficulty, we managed to convince his parents to send the child to school,” co-founder Bina Sheth Lashkari remembers. “He not only learnt to play rugby, we consider him a role model for the desire to do something for others.”
After a couple of years at Door Step, Mr. Shaikh remembers being shifted to the Colaba Municipal School. There, Magic Bus happened.
The then-fledgling NGO, with its philosophy of teaching children life lessons via activities like sports, brought rugby into the eight-year-old’s life.
While he was still in school, his father passed away. Somehow, his mother kept the family going, working long hours as a domestic help to pay the bills.
But in his Secondary School Leaving Certificate (SSLC) exams in 2004, he failed in maths. He made two more attempts, failing both times, before giving up on studies.
Never give up
Nevertheless, he continued to play rugby, taking it even more seriously. He played at the club level and then for the State, as part of teams that won a silver in the 2011 National Games and bronze in the 2015 edition, and a Federation Cup Rugby gold in 2017.
Along the way, Mr. Shaikh started Magician Impact Foundation to promote rugby. “Magic Bus shifted from rugby to football at one point, so I decided to start something to support youngsters wanting to play,” he says. Founded in 2012 and now a registered body, Magician — as he refers to it — takes in drop-outs and those who, for various reasons, cannot attend normal schools.
Meanwhile, Rugby India, the national federation, hired him as a development officer, sending him across Maharashtra to teach the game. He says proudly that he has touched the lives of about 40,000 children in 22 districts. “One of two players can be groomed for higher levels,” he says.
Six years after he gave up on his SSLC, a friend persuaded him to try again and, he says, delightedly, “I passed with 87% in maths!” Mr. Shaikh is now in his second year as a B.Com student at Sidddharth College in Churchgate, where he also doubles up as the rugby coach. Once he graduates, he wants to try and join the police fore.
About that road sign?
That signboard is a meeting point for youngsters in the area seeking sporting dreams. What else has that signboard meant to him? He laughs. “Some people ask me for permission to sit there. Drunkards mostly.”
