Diving Board - This one is for Him and for us...
-
It was Mumbai, 80s, morning, dewy with a slight November chill.
A sweeper's long broom had formed a dust cloud that filled one quarter of the narrow street. A skinny young boy wearing white sweater changed footpaths to avoid the dust. A big cricket kit hung from his tiny shoulder. The taxiwala didn't bother to look up and glance at him nor did the housewife who was putting wet clothes on the rope tied between two ends of her balcony.
The boy had sleep deprived eyes. He had been thinking about those four runs that he needed to complete his first-ever century. He avoided sleeping at this uncle's house in Dadar. He needed his parents. So, he slept at his home to counter anxiety.
He unzipped his kit. Put his batting gears on, one by one, while praying and thinking about how will he face his coach as well as his elder brother if he fails today.
Play resumed. After few quiet deliveries, there was one, from a fast bowler, that was pitched outside the off stump. He kept his eye on it till the very end, adjusted his right leg, moved his left leg slightly back and on the sides. With a shoulder high back lift of the bat, he transferred all his power to the ball and middle-d the ball with perfection. Willowy sound of that cracking square cut traversed to each and every corner of Shivaji Park. A flock of pigeons flew away from a nearby tree.
Scorer changed score-cards. Record-keeper yawned. He entered yet another Harris Shield hundred in his books. After he closed his book, All the haughty letters from that record conspired against the record-keeper. They came together and balanced the weight of the pages above them and force opened the book.
Goddess Mumba Devi smiled in her little room.
Mumbai went on her usual business.
Ordinary people continued doing their ordinary work.
-- -- --
Time was traveling at a speed of light.
An extra ordinary man was in a business of doing extra ordinary work and still managed to make it look like ordinary. It inspired ordinary people to do ordinary work by putting extraordinary
efforts.
-- -- --
One fine evening -
A saintly man had scheduled a meeting with God on a small cloud. Sadness was apparent on his face.
"What happened?", asked God, "Why are so worried for him?"
"I wished he hadn't loved me so much."
"What! Why?"
"Just because he hadn't raised his bat in a while for me, they think that he has forgotten me and hence his duties. They feel disappointed and cheated. And I know it is not true."
God smiled, "That is okay. They hope for 'it' because they believe in him. What the lesser mortals don't know is that - it is not hope, it is anticipation. Just because an anticipation goes unfulfilled, doesn't mean that there is no hope. Even if hope dies, patience should persist. It is important to hope for better but it is more important to be patient. In this case, neither has hope died nor patience.
I know his heart is pure. He is brave, don't worry. He will do what I imagined doing myself."
The saintly man was satisfied but not happy. He hopped on the next cloud and headed towards his home, heaven.
-- -- --
"HECTOR!"
On one fine morning, few millionths of millimeter way from all of us, in a parallel universe of an ancient kind, one incredible warrior challenged his equally astonishing rival. The moment their eyes met each other, a rage of fire erupted between them that blinded Zeus, Apollo and their ensemble of Gods. Everyone was anxious. World was silent, only heartbeats reverberated in the air. A small breeze made the dust hover in a small circle between them. Then there was a deafening roar of war drums. Both of them took a step towards each other. No matter how innocuous and lovable he is, but Romeo must die; similarly, no matter how brave and principled he is, Hector, must die. His death was impending and Achilles's glory was inevitable.
-- -- --
At the same moment, in our world, the war drums transformed into unthinkable commotion.
The whole world watched as that little boy, now a champion, took his stance. The bowler stood at his run up marker. He knew that no sooner he makes one smallest mistake and his name will be etched in the record book forever; a record that will be drudged by him throughout his life.
Although the world around those twenty-two yards erupted into a sound, infinite decibel high, world within the twenty two yards was peaceful and silent. One billion faces chanting His name and two billion eyes eager to witness history. One billion heartbeats and two billion hands clapping together. All this, to see one dream that was only a moment away from becoming reality.
As the bowler started running towards the stumps, he made one grave mistake. He looked in the eyes of the champion for a fraction of a second. His looks pierced through the bowler's eyes, cut apart his skull and opened his mind. For that fraction of a second He distorted the space-time field that no Einstein was ever going to figure out how. The champion had already played that ball even before it reached him.
World didn't know 'it' yet.
-- -- --
The God of twenty two yards once again had commanded emotions of a billion people to succumb to his glory. World was stunned.
It was a moment when Time stopped for this great man. It had to, because henceforth people will remember that moment, that time, only because he lived it. His greatness was an attribute of
its existence.
It was a moment when the great man kissed his helmet, looked at the sky and raised his bat for hundredth time. The teary-eyed saintly man applauded with joy. After his meeting with God, he was being patient. No if's, no buts', no questions, no anticipation, only a painful patience.
It was a moment that relieved Sun from shining. Sun shut down.
Just after that moment, the great man told his mind that there is no past and no future. He focused only on 'present'. He calmly freed time from a freeze. In spite of what he just did, He walked the same Earth as we do with his feet two inches below the ground.
He could let go that moment which drenched him with divine happiness; a happiness no one has ever experienced or even realised. And no one will, for time unknown. We took the same moment and multiplied it by a thousand orgasms. Mortals.
-- -- --
The saintly man was satisfied but not happy. He hopped on the next cloud and headed towards his home, heaven.
-- -- --
"HECTOR!"
On one fine morning, few millionths of millimeter way from all of us, in a parallel universe of an ancient kind, one incredible warrior challenged his equally astonishing rival. The moment their eyes met each other, a rage of fire erupted between them that blinded Zeus, Apollo and their ensemble of Gods. Everyone was anxious. World was silent, only heartbeats reverberated in the air. A small breeze made the dust hover in a small circle between them. Then there was a deafening roar of war drums. Both of them took a step towards each other. No matter how innocuous and lovable he is, but Romeo must die; similarly, no matter how brave and principled he is, Hector, must die. His death was impending and Achilles's glory was inevitable.
-- -- --
At the same moment, in our world, the war drums transformed into unthinkable commotion.
The whole world watched as that little boy, now a champion, took his stance. The bowler stood at his run up marker. He knew that no sooner he makes one smallest mistake and his name will be etched in the record book forever; a record that will be drudged by him throughout his life.
Although the world around those twenty-two yards erupted into a sound, infinite decibel high, world within the twenty two yards was peaceful and silent. One billion faces chanting His name and two billion eyes eager to witness history. One billion heartbeats and two billion hands clapping together. All this, to see one dream that was only a moment away from becoming reality.
As the bowler started running towards the stumps, he made one grave mistake. He looked in the eyes of the champion for a fraction of a second. His looks pierced through the bowler's eyes, cut apart his skull and opened his mind. For that fraction of a second He distorted the space-time field that no Einstein was ever going to figure out how. The champion had already played that ball even before it reached him.
World didn't know 'it' yet.
-- -- --
The God of twenty two yards once again had commanded emotions of a billion people to succumb to his glory. World was stunned.
It was a moment when Time stopped for this great man. It had to, because henceforth people will remember that moment, that time, only because he lived it. His greatness was an attribute of
its existence.
It was a moment when the great man kissed his helmet, looked at the sky and raised his bat for hundredth time. The teary-eyed saintly man applauded with joy. After his meeting with God, he was being patient. No if's, no buts', no questions, no anticipation, only a painful patience.
It was a moment that relieved Sun from shining. Sun shut down.
Just after that moment, the great man told his mind that there is no past and no future. He focused only on 'present'. He calmly freed time from a freeze. In spite of what he just did, He walked the same Earth as we do with his feet two inches below the ground.
He could let go that moment which drenched him with divine happiness; a happiness no one has ever experienced or even realised. And no one will, for time unknown. We took the same moment and multiplied it by a thousand orgasms. Mortals.
-- -- --
Next year -
On one fine evening after the final prayers were offered, the priests locked Goddess MumbaDevi behind the closed doors. She breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, she could be with herself to vent out the sadness. She made the first light of the Sun fall on those twenty two yards where He shall be playing one last time.
-- -- --
He was quietly watching the illuminated pitch from one of the stands. Everything else was dark. The wee hour breeze was caressing his curly hair. His face was lit from the golden light off the pitch. It was not just a patch of land. It was a pool of infinite dreams. All his life, He chased and found all those dreams right there, within those twenty two yards. He choked on the nervousness. His fingers quivered.
-- -- --
He was quietly watching the illuminated pitch from one of the stands. Everything else was dark. The wee hour breeze was caressing his curly hair. His face was lit from the golden light off the pitch. It was not just a patch of land. It was a pool of infinite dreams. All his life, He chased and found all those dreams right there, within those twenty two yards. He choked on the nervousness. His fingers quivered.
He closed his eyes for few seconds and took a deep breath. Memories from all those surreal years raced passed his mind. He began breathing faster and faster with each passing memory. His fingers formed the strongest fist. When He couldn't take it anymore, he opened his eyes. The hawkish eyes looked the pitch for one last time. A flock of seagulls flew past him. He was ready.
No one else was.
-- -- --
-- -- --
After he went back to his room, a handful of people sneaked on to the illuminated pitch with scales, pencils and a lux meter. They measured the length, breadth and depth of it. They measured the intensity of the luminous emittance. They mumbled amongst themselves and declared that what they discovered was nothing 'great'. They measured the what, how and when. But, they never measured why. It was impossible for them.
-- -- --
-- -- --
Yet again, no sooner the ordinary people saw him, there was a deafening roar. For one last time, they wanted to bath in light of his glory. They expected him to shatter the bowl in pieces and write a new record. However, it was not something that was going on in His mind. He lifted the heaviest bat in the world and wrote the most beautiful poetry. The nymph from his poetry intoxicated everyone with a magical potion. She created a small world of enchantment within the stadium. Everyone was elated.
-- -- --
-- -- --
Inevitability had the last word. There was an eerie silence. Only His tears spoke. As soon as those tears trickled down his face, his transparent soul became opaque. The evening light bounced off it. He put down the immense burden from his shoulders. We looked at his back; the name, the number. No one dared to follow him for no one can walk along side Him. Only He is meant to walk that path because only He can. The once haughty letters from the record book gave up. Now the book remains closed for time unknown. Mumbadevi wept in her little room. The World wept alongside her.
-- -- --
-- -- --
The sound of your shots will also reverberate in our ears, forever.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------The End
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- abhi!
18.11.13
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------The End
--------
- abhi!
18.11.13
