Staying off the field

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. 

A prayer for the prey

With pride did the pride look at their prey

Lying in the middle, praying to not be preyed upon

But on this day no one cared for such prayers

For the members of the pride were clear

They could wait no more

A nod from the wise one of the pride was enough

For the baby of the pride to pick up the prey

Almost immediately, he started uttering mysterious words 

Words that would be incomprehensible if reproduced here

The wise lion and the two lionesses listened intently

Intermittently nodding their heads in agreement 

The old fox felt differently though

He stared at the trees in the distance and wondered

"What that hell am I doing in a Pride? 

Should I not be in a skulk? Where is my skulk?"

He had been living with these thoughts for years

But had not done anything about it

The pride seemed happy to have him in the midst

Though they did not understand much of his doings and sayings

They appreciated his actions profusely

With the passing of time, the fox started believing

That he was more a lion than a fox

The fox's attention came back to the present 

When he heard the others utter in unison "Technique?"

He wondered why the word had captured their attention

Out of the blue the pride pounced on the prey

And started tearing it apart, shredding it into many pieces

Each member took away a piece and chewed on it

The wise lion chewed on "conflict"

While the healer lioness on "vocation"

The vocal lioness, enjoyed the taste of "blind faith"

While the baby of the pride started working on "existence"

The old fox had no pieces left 

He sat and stared at each member in the circle

He was bewildered by the fact 

That the prey could be torn apart thus

He had always thought that the prey had to remain whole

How can the prey torn apart thus be reassembled?

He felt disturbed by the fate of the prey

He sat back and prayed for the prey

Dance of the Drongo

High above the world, on a charged line 
Sits a drongo looking at the world with interest
Strolling down the road was a black dog
Looking at the happenings around with disinterest
The dog saw a group of dogs
Sniffing each other's backsides intently
It turned its head away in disgust
Sniffing backsides did not seem interesting any more
While turning its head, the dog observed
From the corner of its eyes, a black bird
With an interesting fork in its tail
The dog looked at the bird for a moment
Before turning away and staring at the blackness of the road

The drongo, on the other hand, observed the dog with interest
The blackness of the dog lit a lamp in the drongo's head
"Black as the night sky, is your black
Black as your black, are my feathers"
Chirped the drongo merrily
It swooped down towards the dog
Right above the dog, it chirped "black"
It swooped up, turned around, swooped down
Once again it chirped "black" right above the dog
And thus continued the dance of the drongo
Swoop down, "black", swoop up, turn around
Swoop down, "black", swoop up, turn around
From left to right and right to left
Continued the drongo till the dog moved away

The dog ignoring the drongo's dance
Continued to stare at the blackness of the road
The drongo's chirps did not interest the dog
It sounded no different from the chirp of any bird
Suddenly a shout came from the dog's right
"Intruder" screamed the brown dog
That believed it was the watchdog of the area
The black dog jumped and ran towards the brown dog
And started chasing the intruder away 
The drongo, back in its high place
Looked in the direction of the receding black dog
And chirped "black" in sadness

Birds of a feather are flocking outside

"What is your age?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Tell me! What is your age?

"Why don't you guess?"

She looked at me intently for a few seconds and said, "forty-five". That was not much younger than my age. I said, "fifty-one". She asked, "why do people hesitate to mention their age?" I did not have a response for her question and yet said "Maybe they do not like to mention their age." She persisted "but why?" I did not know how to respond and so I remained quiet. She did not continue with the topic. I focused on consuming my food. Suddenly, she announced "you will be hundred in another 49 years". Once again, I did not know what to say. She looked at me with a sparkle in her eyes. "... and I will be 60 years old". I smiled and said, "You will be old too". The sparkle in her eyes disappeared. I asked, "How do you think you would respond if someone asked for your age then?" She responded, "I don't think I will tell them my age". Both of us shook our heads in agreement.

As our discussion ended, I overheard the boy on the other side of the table mention "I think, I believe, I have been made to understand that my birthday is on March 5". I looked at him puzzled and asked, "why do you say it in that manner?" He asked back "in what manner?" I responded "Why did you yuse all those phrases like, I think, and I believe. Don't you know your date of birth?". He said "How will I know? I was not even a day old when I was born. I did not have any idea about calendars then. My mother told me that I was born on March 5th, and I have to believe her." I found the statement intriguing. I asked, "but why would your mother say you were born on March 5 if you were not born on March 5." He responded, "I don't know." I did not let go of him and continued "you think she has a special affection for March 5?" He shrugged his shoulders and said "Maybe! I don't know." I smiled and let go of the topic.

One of the girls on the table announced. "They are serving gulab jamun today." The boy sitting beside me felt disappointed. He said, "but they should serve ice cream". I informed him "there are too many cases of viral fever in the city and so it is best to avoid ice cream". He did not seem convinced "but what is the connection between ice cream and virus?" I felt stumped. For a long time, I have been made to believe that ice creams caused cold and fever, but I was not sure of relation between the two. While I was searching for a response, another girl announced from across the table that she did not like gulab jamun. I was shocked. Till that moment, I thought all humans on the planet liked gulab jamun. As a matter of fact, I have seen news on a few websites that a planet in the Andromeda galaxy was name Gulabic Jammer 832 as a tribute to this famous sweet. I am not sure if the planet was named thus by humans who discovered the planet or by aliens residing on the planet. If the latter had named their planet thus, it would mean that gulab jamun is also famous among aliens; that too across galaxies. Yet here I am sitting across a table from a human being who did not like gulab jamun. In a state of shock, I asked her "why?" She shrugged her shoulders without responding. I persisted "do you like rasgulla?" She responded "yes" and then added "a little". I had discovered the truth "Ah! You don't like the wet sweets". To prove my point, I asked her "do you like jangiri or jelabi?" She did not know which was which. So, I explained "jangiri is famous in the south and jelabi in the north". A bulb glowed besides her head as she responded, "I prefer jangiri". My conjecture had been proved. I declared "you don't like wet sweets". She added thoughtfully "I like badushah though". I smiled and said no more.

The place around the boy's toilet had become a favorite spot for the boys to flock. They took extended unsanctioned time-off outside the doors of the toilet and discussed boisterously. Their loud discussions and laughter travelled to nearby rooms. Periodically, someone came by and disbanded the crowd. The boys moved away from the toilet with loud and whiny protests. On that day, I saw two of the boys lazing outside the toilet door. I felt annoyed "Why are you two guarding the toilet door like dwarapalakas?". One of the boys responded "dwara what?" The other one said "Dwara! That is a place in Gujarat". I corrected him "that's Dwaraka. Dwara mean door. Dwarapalakas are guards of doorways. The two of you are here all the time." 

"We are taking some time off. We are not disturbing anyone."

"Of course, you are disturbing. No one want to pee with two people overseeing them."

"We are not overseeing!"

"In that case, observing!"

"We are not observing!"

"You might not be, but I feel so and that is disturbing."

"In that case, we will move away."

When I walked out of the toilet, I found that the two of them had moved a few feet away from the door. I stood there and stared at them for a few moments. They took heed of my stare and walked away. I continued a to stare at them till they disappeared into another building. As I started walking away from the toilet door, I heard the desperate chirpings of a bird from my left. I walked towards the boundary wall and found a small yellow chick fluttering close to the ground. I looked at it for a few seconds before going in search of an environment friendly person. Within a few minutes, I came back with one such person. He looked at the chick and said "Oh! It is golden something." He did not say golden something. I don't remember the second part of the name and so I have used the word something. He picked the chick in his hands and inspected it "Oh! It is injured". A feeling bordering on sadness passed through me. He looked around at the trees and announced "I don't see any nests here. I don't think we can do much. The chick will not survive for long. Let me see what can be done." He placed the chick on the ground. It seemed relieved. I gave the chick a last look and walked away.

Colourful days

I leave home at 7 am every working day. My workplace is nearly 8 km from my home and I spend around 20 minutes on road to get to my workplace. At that time of the day, there are not many vehicles on the road and so the drive is usually smooth. But this morning, there were many lorries on the road. They were travelling in both the directions. The one's going ahead of my car were filled with gravel or mud. The one's travelling in the opposite direction were empty. The single lane roads made it difficult to overtake these large vehicles. So, I had to travel slower than usual and had to keep my impatience under check. 

As I was walking in, I saw three ten year old walking in tandem with their right hand placed over their left chest chanting "all is well". I watched with amusement the little villains pass by. Usually, all was not well when these three were around. Later that afternoon, I saw one of the three being carried away from the games field with his hands around two people's shoulders. Clearly, all was not well with him. One of fellow all-is-well-ers was walking right behind. He paused for a moment when he reached close to me and asked "How is hair golden coloured?" For the first time in my life, someone had applied colour on my head and I was not particularly happy with it. When this little devil asked about it, I decided to spin a tale. I responded "I electroplated it with gold". He did not understand but did not bother to continue with the conversation. The boy who was injured was recounting his accident. "I was running behind the ball fastly when it suddenly appeared right under my foot. I slipped and fell. I think I twisted my ankle". 

In the evening, the uninjured-all-is-well kid came up to me asked "so how did your hair become golden?" I responded confidently "electroplating". He asked "what is that?" I said "I put a plate of gold in an acid and dipped my head..." I stopped the explanation mid-sentence. Someone inside my head was knocking on my skull desperately while shouting "listen you fool". I listened "What are you doing? Don't you know this kid is capable of doing it himself? He will electrocute himself or burn his head in acid. Stop it now." I realized my folly. I said "Ha, ha, ha! Fooled you! I coloured it with golden colour, like others colour it with black colour. Ha, ha, ha!" He looked at me with disappointment pouring out of his eyes. He said "You have broken my heart! I was hoping that the root of the hair will become gold. Then I can sell golden hair and be rich." A colleague who was listening to the conversation came by and said "now I understand why he was talking about becoming rich by making diamonds grow out of his hair." I looked at her shocked. As they say in the radio cricket commentaries "mairizhayil thappinan".

In the morning, a few children presented plays based on trial scenes from four books. One of the plays was based on the climatic trial scene from the book "The Merchant of Venice". One of the scenes involved Shylock saying "You have among you many a purchased slave, which, like your asses and your dogs and mules, you use in abject and in slavish parts because you bought them. Shall I say to you Let them be free! Marry them to your heirs!" The boy who wished to harvest gold and diamonds from his hair was sitting next to me. His posture made it clear that he was not interested in the proceedings. I thought he was on verge of sleeping when child playing the role of Shylock uttered the words mentioned above. Suddenly, he sat up erect and asked "Did I hear him say asses marrying?" I responded "Yes! Asses as in donkeys." He gave a disappointed "oh" before going back to his slump.

An hour before the end of the day, I walked into the room. The children greeted me with a demand to be left free. I waved their demand away. Suddenly, I noticed a child at one end of the class looking intently at something in his hand. Soon he started licking a purple fruit gleefully. I should have felt happiness seeing his joy but I did not. I barked at him and he quickly placed the fruit in his pocket. Later, I saw him walking with two of his friends. One of them asked "What's in your mouth, da?" The boy opened his mouth wide. I did not see the world within it but saw a crushed purple coloured fruit. One of the kids uttered in amazement "Wow! Jamun!" The utter said "ewwwww!" in disgust.

During these months, a million jamuns grew in the tree. They fell on the ground regularly. To save the jamuns from death, a yellow sheet was placed underneath the tree. The jamuns that fell on the sheet were instantly picked up by children and crushed to death between their teeth. The children scampered around with purple tongues and screams of delight. Some of the jamuns fell on the pathway besides the yellow sheet, which resulted in grave injuries to the fruit. They were not fit for eating. The ones that survived the fall did not last long though. They were crushed to death under the feet of the children and adult walking along the path. During these months, the path besides the jamun tree turned purple. One felt intoxicated by the smell of decaying jamuns. In these months, the path became the high road to the gate.

The rich purple colour of the jamun resulted in someone getting an idea to dye a piece of white cloth with Jamun juice. The resulting dyed cloth was presented to us proudly. I looked at it with interest and said "Many jamuns dyed for this". Another responded "the culprit was caught purple handed". The people around the table laughed. The presenter of the cloth walked away displeased.

At the end of the day, as the children walked out of the room, I realized it was littered with small bits of paper. Some of these were chits that were passed around the class when talking was not possible. One of the chits was in the shape of Saudi Arabia and it contained the following conversation.
Hi Boss!!
Why are you quit?
Quit what?
Not talking
To whom?
You only!!!!!
To who I'm not talking?
Ayooo! Me daaaaa!!
Din't even call me da!!