He walked across the road towards the rock that was placed over the narrow open drain on the other side of the road. He had never wondered why the rock was placed thus over the drain. Nor did he wonder where the rock had come from. There were no rocks in the vicinity. Did someone get the rock from the western ghats? Or was it found under the ground when the buildings were built? None knew nor cared to know. When he reached the rock, he turned around and started running diagonally across the road. The stone that represented the wicket at the non-striker's end was seven metres away. As he reached it, he sprung in the air and moved is right arm in a curve. When his arm was vertically above him, he released the rubber ball that he held in his palm. He looked in the direction of the ball. It bounced on the ground and flew towards the batter, who tapped it gently. The balled rolled towards a fielder who appreciated the bowler as he threw the ball back towards him. He caught the ball, turned around and walked towards the rock. He wished he could rub the ball on his pants, like Kapil Dev or Madhanlal, but he had realized some months ago that it was pointless to do so with a rubber ball.
He was 10 when he had shifted to Bombay. It had taken him six months to learn Hindi and to make friends. Since that time, he played cricket in the evenings. His days of playing games only started when he reached Bombay. At school, during the games period, the children played a game called langda. It was a team game where a catcher, hopping on one leg, tries to catch members of the opposite team. He was not very good at the game. Neither could he hop well nor run quickly. At the end of every games period, he ended being the worst player - the first one to get out and the only one who could not catch any member of the opposite team. Soon, no one wanted him to play in their team. Fortunately, he fared a little better in cricket. He took wickets regularly and scored a few runs too.
As the months passed, the children lost their interest in cricket. They spent their evenings walking around and talking about books and movies. He liked spending time with them but on some evenings, he preferred to sit at home and read a Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew novel. One day, someone in the group suggested that they should start playing hockey. The boys went into the bushes to get sticks that could be used as a hockey bat. Soon the group started playing hockey on the road with their respective sticks and a rubber ball. Within a few days, other kids joined the group and the game became serious. One day, during the selection of the team, there were odd number of kids and one of them had to be left out. Everyone decided that he was the weakest player among the group and he should sit outside. Even his friends from the cricketing days did not want him to be a part of the game. He felt crushed. He did not have many friends and on that day, he felt he had lost all of them. He felt tears rolling down his cheeks. He did not want others to see him crying. He turned around and walked away. His old friends noticed him walking away with his head hung low.
Next day, he was invited with enthusiasm and the boys gave him a spot in one of the teams. He played for the next few days but he soon realized that he did not play well and did not receive many passes. One day, he stopped playing. He sat by the road and watched the others play. Many days he preferred to stay at home. Sometimes when his group of friends played hide and seek, he took part in it. But the experiences at the school and near his home made him lose interest in sports. Apparently, playing well is important to make friends and the distance he maintained from sport resulted in him not having many friends.
When he was 14, he moved back to Madras. His school in Madras did not have a games field. He felt happy about this. For many years he believed that this was the reason for his having a lot more friends in Madras than he had in Bombay. He did not play when he came back home from school. Instead, he spent his time with his family. As time passed, he stopped playing any game. He did not want to be a part of competition that was an integral part of sports. The insult and the loneliness felt by a person who is at the end of the line was only known to those who were constantly at the end of the line.
Fortunately, for him he could make the world believe that he was intelligent. At 21, he realized that brain power had its advantage and that there were many people on the planet who supported brain power over muscle power. The 20 or 25 cricketers in the Indian team were an exception. He looked back with contempt at all those fellows who had kept him away from their teams owing to his inability to play well.
All through his life, people continued to coax him to be a part of some game or other. Sometimes he gave in. But at most times, he hummed the lines from the song "The Winner takes it all" by ABBA.
The winner takes it all
The loser's standing small
Beside the victory
That's her destiny
Only the loser knows the pain and humiliation of losing. So here is an ode from a world class loser to all you bloody winners.
We can't win and we don't mind losing
But one thing we certainly don't want
A place at the end of the line
The winners never remember the spirit of the game
When they look at us, the residents of the end of the line
For us, the sporting arena or a games field
Is just a piece of land where we will be shoved to the end
But every other part of the world's available for us
And we will live here with a lot more happiness
Than we will ever get in a games field
So do us a favour and don't bother to invite us
To your bloodless battleground
NOTE: Many of the events described here are set in the 80's but it holds true even now. I have seen it with my own eyes.
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