Tuesday 29 June 2021

A fond memory from Childhood


 

I had an exact-looking ball when I was 8. It was the summer of 1997 when I had tried to make it as a cricketer. Having perfected the cover drive in a week, the leg glance and the on-drive eagerly waited in the queue. I tried to walk like Ganguly when on the field and talk like him at home. The early morning coaching sessions taught me the game, while the evenings taught me to dream. After 7 pm, I would spend hours in my playroom throwing myself around to catch this unusually high-bouncing ball. Every time I threw it up, I shouted 'in the air' mimicking Tony Greig's voice, and then as I caught it and threw my hands up in delight, a loud cheer rang in my ears. This ball that my father gifted me for scoring a 10 on 10 in maths had witnessed a long-haired kid in shorts answer several post-match interviews staring at a three feet tall mirror on the wall.

I do not remember when exactly I jumped ships, but on my fifteenth birthday, I gave away the ball to a six-year-old who fancied Yuvraj Singh's cover drives. I wonder where I would be today if I had pursued my dream. I would either be happier or less happy but not as happy. The contact list on my phone would have had different names. The food on my plate and the city where I stay could have been different. And, I would have had a different story to tell. But, had I not changed my mind, would I be storytelling at all?

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