The Story of a Cricketer

 

He never knew that his craze for cricket will turn into a dream that will be kept alive somehow. Growing up in the seventies and eighties, the madness would get into his soul on dusty, holed pitches in the playground speckled with bunch-grass and patches of alkaline waste outside the village. He could have done batter in studies if not for this obsession with the willow-lashing game.

What did the countryside urchins know about cricket, except Kapil’s famous feat at the world cup, and that two people run madly between the stacks of bricks facing each other from some yards, with a dusty land in between, somebody throwing mindlessly, and someone swinging the tattered bat still more mindlessly, and still more people running madly after the cork ball that had all the freedom of taking whatever course it preferred to take?

Well, this isn’t even the A of cricket. The real game of cricket starts many notches further. It’s a very technical game having thousand nuances and mind-games. So it was more of baseball cricket that gripped rural India during the seventies and eighties and it ate countless hours as much as it ate all other sports. Having spent a major portion of his youth in baseball cricket on dusty, holed grounds, he got into Delhi Police as a constable, a gross underachievement given his academic potential. But then cricket was the predominant thing for his soul and I cannot see him holding any regrets even decades later.

Even after getting yoked into matrimony and police duties, he kept the flame alive, and continued throwing around his bat whenever and anywhere there was a possibility. A bit of momentum he transferred to his kids. He gave the best of affordable facilities to his son. Settled in a town, sent him to coaching, pushed him to gym and gave him expert diet.

The boy rose above the level of baseball cricket to play cricket, but not beyond the city club level. He isn’t dejected. The dream is still alive. “Such big innings are played across three generations at least,” he says. “I have got him to a level where he will be able to guide his son to at least national level,” he has the patience of the Pacific Ocean in just being there for centuries.

Well, it’s more suitable to keep the dreams alive, across generations, in fact. Then they stand a chance to get fulfilled. Isn’t it hope and dreams personified? I think only some inherent love and liking for something takes someone so leisurely with limitless patience on the path of life. And at least there is a direction and a clear sense of purpose the family is carrying. Best of luck guys! I really appreciate your loving passion for the game. With so much of love for the game, you just cannot help being bitten by the sweet bug of a really compassionate self.