SHE tried to hold back her tears when she received the news. The cheering of the crowd was deafening and Minalochuni Pathmanathan desperately needed a quiet place to process her thoughts. Running to the lavatory, she barely made it into one of the cubicles before the dam burst.
Within the confines of that small space, she wept her heart out.
The 26-year-old and her motley team of underdogs nicknamed the "Karate Kids" had done the unthinkable. Each of her nine-member team won a medal at the French Karate International Open, a tournament that saw 12 countries participate, including karate heavyweights from Japan and Italy.
"I did this for my father," Mina (as she's fondly known) tells me heavily. "If it was just up to me, I would have given up!"
The stoic woman in front of me smiles slightly as she continues: "The night before we left for Lyon, France, I almost caved in to the pressure and wanted to bow out of the competition. We didn't have enough money for the trip. Some of the parents borrowed heavily to finance their children, who were participating while we were desperately trying to raise funds right up to the 11th hour. We still couldn't raise enough funds in time."
It was depressing and demoralising, she readily admits. People weren't ready to root for an inexperienced team led by a young woman. She shrugs her shoulders before saying: "It was my husband who persuaded me to go ahead with the trip. He reminded me that we couldn't dash the dreams of our students. We simply couldn't."
Giving up wasn't something her father would have done. She steeled herself and went ahead anyway. Money be damned. They'd eat Maggi noodles and biscuits if they had to (and they did for most of their trip), but they will compete, come hell or high water.
"I never expected they'd win," she confesses with a wry chuckle. When her husband, team manager Yasotharan Arumugam, ran up to her and told her about her students' astounding results, she couldn't believe it. "All I could think about was my father, and how he would have been very proud of me and the team," she says softly, continuing: "I just ran to the toilet and burst into tears!"
Over the next few weeks, Malaysians everywhere had ingested a tidal wave of heartwarming tales illuminating the realised dreams of these dedicated and exceptional athletes. Tales of sacrifice and success, of hard work rewarded in a moment of glory.
Then there are the stories of those behind the scenes who inspired the team to greater heights, but who would never be there to witness the crowning glory of medals received in the midst of thunderous applause.
DEVASTATING LOSS
"My father would have been so proud," she remarks again before lapsing into silence. The oscillating fan above whirs with a hum as we sit in silence. "I just want to fulfil my father's wishes, you know," she breaks the silence. A picture of her father on the opposite wall gazes down at us with a benevolent smile.
Mina lost her father last year to the scourge of Covid. "We'll be celebrating his first death anniversary in three days," she lets me know with a slight smile. Her eyes, however, tell another story. The grief is deep and palpable.
She admits to feeling lost without him. Her father was her sensei (teacher), her instructor and the one who first introduced her to the martial arts scene. "He had a long title," she reveals with a laugh.
Her father was none other than Mahaguru Hanshi Dr P. Pathmanathan, AMN. She reels off his titles with pride lacing through her voice. The titles bestowed reflect his outstanding contributions in the field of martial arts and beyond. They also reflect his calling as an inspirational teacher and mentor to Mina and thousands of other young people.
In addition to the kyu/dan (underbelt/black belt) ranking system used by most Japanese martial arts, there is a parallel system called shogo. The word loosely translates into English as title or rank. In this context, title is a bit more accurate. These titles are awarded only to dan (black belt) level martial artists — typically at high dan levels.
Their primary purpose is to show that in addition to being a good martial artist, the individual is also a good teacher. Earning the minimum rank is not enough. The teacher must also be nominated and approved for the title. Typically, they are awarded to teachers who have given something back to the organisation he belongs to.
In Pathmanathan's case, he was bestowed the title of Hanshi, which translates literally as "exemplary teacher". Many martial artists will use the term "professor" interchangeably with hanshi. This almost always requires a minimum rank of at least hachidan (8th degree black belt) and sometimes nanadan (9th degree black belt).
The former Malaysia Airlines driver quit his job when Mina was just 8 years old to concentrate on becoming a full-time karate instructor. The fiery and determined man went on to set up an association back in 1996 to teach and mentor young people in martial arts.
The International Okinawan Shorin Ryu Seibukan Karate Do Association of Malaysia (IOSSKAM) was founded by Pathmanathan in 1996 where hundreds, if not thousands, of underprivileged youth and just about anyone interested in martial arts went through its doors to make something of themselves by building confidence and discipline.
"My father wasn't a rich person," she says, adding: "But he created a good thing for this nation. He didn't leave me with money or riches but he left me with something intangible. He allowed me to dream and by extension, this association has provided a platform for young people to dream big and aim for the stars."
His death was untimely, she tells me. He passed away lying on her lap, with her husband and brother by his side. "It was a peaceful death but I was devastated," her voice cracks with grief.
"He was your best friend," I venture hesitantly, trying to understand. "He was my everything," she replies shortly. Just that morning, Mina had revealed a piece of good news to him. She was pregnant and her father was overjoyed. He passed on from Covid complications that very day, in the evening.
"I lost my baby after his death. The shock, the depression… those things took a toll on me and resulted in my miscarriage. I'm still trying to recover," she tells me frankly. Continuing, she says: "Life as I knew it would never be the same again. Not for me or the thousands of students who revered him and called him their teacher and master."
MENTOR AND BEST FRIEND
Pathmanathan was her teacher and master from the age of 2. "I can't pinpoint the exact time or how I was feeling when he first brought me to his dojo (a school in training for karate)," she says, shrugging her shoulders. "All I can say is that thanks to my father, I've only known karate for all my life. I mean I was just 2 years old!"
She didn't like it at first. It was too rigid, too constricting for the fun-loving little girl. "I had no interest at all to begin with," she says, adding: "But when I started winning competitions, something just sparked in me."
Winning didn't come easy. She lost her first tournament at the age of 6. "You know, when you lose a competition, it becomes very demoralising and you feel like giving up," she explains. "Was your father disappointed?" I ask. "He wasn't disappointed. My father used to value giving your best at every tournament. If I won a tournament but didn't give it my best shot, he'd know and he wouldn't be happy. If I lost a tournament despite putting in my best efforts, he'd be prouder. That was who he was," replies Mina.
When 6-year-old Mina lost her first competition, her father remarked that she'd be even more interested in karate when she finally wins a tournament, "It was his way of telling me not to give up," she says with a wry chuckle.
In life, "you're going to lose more often than you win, even if you're good at something," Pathmanathan had told her. "You've got to get used to that to keep going."
Her challenge was overcoming that disappointment and to keep on training. "It was hard," she confesses, adding: "My father was a hard taskmaster. He'd constantly challenge me because he knew that by pushing me, I'd dig in my heels and want to do better. He knew I was obstinate, stubborn and strong. He also knew how to push my buttons by telling me I can't win or that it'd be difficult for me to achieve a gold. He knew that I'd be even more determined to prove him wrong!"
Her father certainly knew her well. At the age of 9, Mina won three medals at a district tournament — one gold, one silver and one bronze. "That first win was exhilarating. Holding that gold medal in my hand, I knew I wanted to go further," she recalls, adding softly: "My father was right. That win got me more interested in karate!"
The determined young woman practised and kept on pursuing the sport under Pathmanathan's tutelage. The love-hate relationship that the father-daughter duo shared spilt on to the tatami (the surface on which karate tournament bouts take place). "Whenever I entered a competition, there were two things that I'd feel. One, my father is my enemy at competitions. And two, I'd be praying that he wouldn't be the one to referee my bouts," she tells me with another chuckle. "He's a tough and fair referee. I may be his daughter, but he'd be doubly hard on me. He'd purposely make it hard for me to win anything!"
By the age of 16, the father-daughter duo's hard work paid off. Mina took part in the 4th Asia Intercontinental WUKF Karate Championship in 2012 and won two golds in both the kumite and kata categories. "My father couldn't have been prouder. He was hard on me but that win really brought us closer."
Their shared love and passion for the sport finally stopped pulling them in opposite directions. "We realised we both wanted the same thing — to raise the standards of karate and to expose it to more people, especially the youths."
Pathmanathan wanted his daughter to carry on with his legacy at the association, but insisted that she begin at the trenches. "He told me he wanted me to win the love and respect of the people the same way he did — through hard work and dedication," she says quietly, adding: "If I had any chance of taking over his role as the president of the association, I would have to win the votes of the people myself."
LIVING IN HIS SHADOW
Her trademark tenacity won her the presidency at the association. Her father lived long enough to see his eldest daughter take over his position as president. His untimely death, however, cast a long shadow that Mina struggled to move out of.
Students and members soon dropped off and gave up after her father's passing. They revered him and couldn't see her as a worthy successor. "It was devastating," she admits, adding: "I had practically no students left at one point. A lot of students stopped coming because they wanted my father to be the master, not me."
She was also battling depression after her father's death, but her husband urged her to concentrate on karate again. "I too missed my father and wanted him to be my master so I understood how they felt. I didn't feel worthy to take on the role as president or coach after his death. But my husband reminded me that I should honour my father's wishes and carry on with the association. I shouldn't give up."
Mina remembered her father's advice. "Don't be afraid of facing challenges head on," he had told her. And when she least expected it, two of her father's favourite students showed up unexpectedly — siblings Paveedra Devi V. Ganesh and Mugeshvaran V. Ganesh. "My father loved them a lot, and they returned to help me, much to my surprise," she says.
Mina started karate classes at the association again. At first, no one showed up. It took a while for students to start trickling in. "We couldn't get the multi-purpose hall at first due to the pandemic and lockdowns. So, we started our classes at a nearby field."
Students once again revelled in the physical outlet that karate offered, a place where nothing was as important as dedication, discipline and honour — or a good measure of athletic ability. Her father's dream was slowly starting to sputter back to life again.
Here was a place where hard work and discipline could lead to ambition and dreams. "I wanted to give my students the same kind of opportunity to reach for the stars. My father always believed that if you tried hard enough, nothing is impossible."
When Mina raised the idea of participating in the French Karate International Open in Lyon, her students were more than enthusiastic and wanted to participate. "If you want to take part in this competition, you've got to train harder," she told them.
The group of students trained as hard as they could. In the meantime, she, along with her council members, worked hard to raise funds for the trip. For 17-year-old Nivashini Sivaraman, who won the gold in the Kata Female Junior category, her involvement in karate just a mere five months ago gave way to an impossible dream being achieved.
"She came from a tough background herself," Mina reveals, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. "Her father, who raised her single-handedly, decided to enrol her in karate classes and she's achieved so much in such a short time. She was consistent in her training, followed my instructions and remained self-motivated despite her family issues."
Despite the lack of funds, the team went on to achieve the impossible in Lyon, France.
"I only wish my father was around to witness this win," she remarks wistfully, before adding: "I wish I could've seen his face." The trophies and the cluster of medals won in Lyon that are kept on display on the dining table glint in the rays of the afternoon sun that flood through the cramped hall of her flat. We look at them silently for a moment.
The glint of gold is reflected in her eyes as she says softly but determinedly: "I want to do more, achieve more. I would like to take part in tournaments again and pursue my dreams again. I know it's what my father would have wanted for me."
Mina will be travelling to the United States to train and obtain her referee certification in karate. After which, the sky's the limit for the tenacious woman. Her father's legacy may be a heavy mantle to wear but she's not complaining. "He gave me a powerful asset, which is this association, and I will carry on his legacy not as Pathmanathan's daughter, but as Minalochuni Pathmanathan," she insists with a smile.
She may be stepping out of his shadows finally, but I can see that there's a lot more of Mahaguru Hanshi Dr P. Pathmanathan, AMN in Mina than she even realises. The people who love us never really leave us.
For Mina, that somehow rings true. After all, he's very much alive in her burning ambition to carry out his legacy in giving young people a chance to dream big and reach for the stars. Just like he did with her.