Love - it's an emotion all of us
(or at least most of us) experience in our lives. And while it can happen in
different ways at different times, through different motives (Yes- indeed),
there'll be that one love that will leave an indelible mark on you.... Or
better still, stay with you in some way as long as you have a beating
heart.
The love I try to relate here is
the kind of love that's beyond being merely a matter of the heart; a love that’s
visceral, penetrating every sinew, every molecule of your being and infusing
you with a sense of pure joy and purpose.
Cupid first struck me when I was
a 6 year old boy - as a kaleidoscope of color - a lush green field, colorful
outfits and a guy running in with yellow cream on his face and releasing a
white ball that was then struck around by guys holding a bat. The colors on the
outfits changed everyday - yellow with a green stripe, Grey with a maroon
stripe and of course - light blue with a yellow stripe - which held a special
place for me because that was supposedly 'my' team - scrawled across the front
of that jersey in beautiful cursive writing, the name of my country - India.
Much like how one would dress up
for a date (not that I knew much about it at that age), I would eagerly wear a
blue t shirt and make sure my canvas shoes were polished white and canter off
to try and wield the willow much like the guys I saw on the telly. And
gradually, even without realizing, the arrow was well and truly lodged in my
heart.
Adolescence - that age of
fluttering hearts and raging hormones, and an innocent belief in miracles,
brought with it an increased passion for the game, daily battles in the
neighborhood parks and roads, tales of valor in winning games, and along with
it, dreams... The sort of dreams you have as an adolescent - huge crowds
cheering you in the arena while you play, that girl in your neighborhood you
secretly harbor a crush on a part of that audience, looking at you with adoring
eyes as you get down on one knee........ and play that perfect cover drive;
when really it was only a couple of elders interrupting their evening walk
around the neighborhood to watch for a few mins, comprising the audience.
And then just like that, like
most first puppy love affairs, it all came crashing down one fine day.... Going
down in a heap along with me, in a pool of blood streaming down my face from a
head injury thanks to a cricket ball in a school game. I remember mumbling to
the coach carrying me to the clinic -"sir.... Please tell my dad not to
pull me out of the game because of this..." before passing out. But the
real villain wouldn't be that injury, it would be that cruel phenomenon called
reality.... The realization that a stable future for a middle class boy lay in
academics; wielding a pen, not the bat. Just like in the movies, I would walk
away one day, not knowing I wouldn't return for a long time. The gates of the
princess' palace were well and truly shut for the stable boy.
Years would pass.... Through
high school and college, with impromptu games in varied settings - the front
yard of a house, the terrace, a city field, by the beach... Idyllic, but hardly
ideal; Friendly, not frenzied; hotly contested, but not quite
competitive.
Little did I know when I boarded
a flight to the US, that those dormant feelings would actually get a new lease
of life in a place where I least expected them to. The sight of a few students
from the Indian subcontinent playing cricket late one night in a parking lot at
the University of Texas at Arlington actually felt like a warm embrace from the
homeland to an uprooted soul in an alien country. Soon enough, late night
parking lot cricket became a way of life for us homesick grad students. And
what started as recreation took on a larger role - parking lot cricket forged
tons of friendships, provided an outlet from the rigors of academics, served to
ease personal pain, and.... renewed the flames of a long lost love in my heart
once more.
It started with a friend asking
me if I would be interested in playing in a tournament in Dallas. I immediately
said ok. It offered the chance to travel outside my university town with no
public transportation, and maybe get some good Indian food. Cometh the day and
we reached the venue..... And I stood there - watching the dreams of my
childhood coming back in a rush.... A lush green field, a pitch and..... An
actual audience J.
And suddenly I knew again what it was to be in a moment of pure, unadulterated
love... Holding the taped tennis ball in my hand, running in with my heart
pounding, gripping the bat, watching the ball wide-eyed... The balls I bowled
that day probably travelled a lot farther than the ones I actually hit while
batting (as is usually the case :)) but I didn't care. I was Craig McDermott
and Allan Donald (minus the war paint), Sachin Tendulkar and Ricky Ponting,
Jonty Rhodes.... all at once.
One thing led to another and
soon I found myself playing league cricket. From those early times in Texas to
a full flowering in Michigan - Smelling the leather of the shiny red cherry,
hearing the fulsome sound of willow impacting ball, the fresh fragrance of the
green grass as you slid across it.... finally consummating a love that burst
forth after having been bottled up for a decade.
Sure - when I look at some
players that are so obviously better than I am, who got better by playing
repeatedly at a higher level up from school days, I can't help but wonder
wistfully - what if?..... Yet I find myself more content now, the earlier
feelings of anger and frustration at having missed out on those years now
morphed into a quiet satisfaction. I have probably gotten way more from this
great game than I ever hoped for during those years in the wilderness.
As I look back on the evolution
of my feelings toward the game, it's pretty much followed the pattern you
imagine a person's love life would take - falling in love, exhilaration at finding
reciprocation, heartbreak, learning to love again, falling and getting up again,
and finally finding a sweet spot that you realize was the place you were
destined to end up at.
A plethora of visuals stream
past as I reminisce - smiles, sweat, blood and tears - in equal measure. But
yet - there is something about these feelings that go beyond the pain of defeat
or the joy of victory. Cricket gave me a sense of identity and self worth
at times of strife in my academic, personal or professional life. It gave me friends when I thought I was all alone. It taught me
to value myself, to love myself. Knowing that I was valuable to a team and that
victory or defeat rested equally on my shoulders as any of my other team mates
made me feel responsible and look forward to every weekend.
It taught me the true import of
Rudyard Kipling’s words – “If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, and treat
those two imposters just the same; Yours is the earth and everything that’s in
it, and which is more – you’ll be a man, my son!”
“One of
the greatest joys in cricket is the people you meet” – said the great Richie
Benaud. Being in cricket has enabled me to meet and greet some of the greats of
the game, legends that I grew up watching on television and idolizing, and
given me a chance to speak to them, see them in the flesh, and shake their hand. It has brought me in touch with scores of people – many of whom are now friends
for life.
When
people ask me what is it that I see in this game, I am at a loss as to how to
explain. All I can do is shrug and say – “you’ll never understand”. They wonder how do I find the motivation and
energy to play day in and day out (and pay to do it at that!). I just point to
the tons of people who do it alongside me. They finally give up and say – “You
re mad”.
All I can say is – “I am just a
guy hopelessly in love – truly, madly, deeply !”
No comments:
Post a Comment