'The ball did not hit the channel below the mark .. it was above ... and if you dont think so .. then gotta go .. I am not playing any more...' he said and i was almost exhausted after being at the receiving end of the stick for long enough to feel desperate.... 'dont go .. meri batting tau de de .. warna' .... 'warna kya' ... 'mummy !! ' is what i used to yell and run screaming at him which by the way he was better at... i could not catch him until he was in the mood to give me a beating. He would let me catch him and while i tried over powering him, he would sneak in a cruel bite at my flesh .. in the hands or thighs or even cheeks.... and I would cry the hell out of it and vouch never to play with him again. .... but after a couple of days of cold treatment and excess homework that father would give to keep us from getting into another fight .. one of us would invite the other to take shot at it again.
We held hands with water bottles in our necks when we headed towards the ferry on a rustic morning. We were careless ... adored by our mother ... kept in check by father. Brown check shirt over crimson shorts ... and black school shoes and red cap with green leaves all over it ..... thats what we both were wearing. I dont know why but our mother on that trip dressed us almost identically ... we were not twins .. he was 18 months elder to me and yet here he was dressed like me.
He and I were both cricket freaks .. only he had the stamina and determination to succeed at it when we were in school. of course i was better at studies and he was not .. which shows his choice as more enforced but it was not ... we both loved sitting in front of the set and watch all 90 overs in a day for nearly a week. As we grew up ... he took the reins .. i was the younger one and thus the perfect character to play pranks on. he would wet my bed when i slepts late and make fun of me when i could not understand the phenomenon of nightfall .. i am sure he did not either .. but he made fun of me alright ... although not publicly but father mother and he used to have a good time... at the expense of my 'puberty?' .. :D
As time passed and especially when he moved to Indore is when our relationship started getting a definition. Before it we were, as odd as it may sound, two kids growing under the same roof and who shared common parents .... fought often .. enjoyed cricket and were company to each other. He moved to Indore to take charge of his life .. direction and do what his heart told him to .. i.e. play cricket. Mom used to travel up and down between Ratlam and Indore to take care of her one piece of heart on weekends and be at job and take care of the other during weekdays. It was this struggle of my mom that i think was responsible to define my relationship with him (i can speak for myself only) ... It was then that i understood that he is the one other than me that my mom can rip herself apart for... and that stitched together all the strands of the time i had spent with him growing up under the same roof. The hardships ... i saw .. my mother and him go through together grew the respect and love i had for him.
I used to go with mom in holidays primarily to see Indore and spend time with a player in the family. He was way more responsible and took on the role to be my mentor. Although i resisted giving up on the carelessness but he knew better and rubbed off a lot on me. He would take me around ... buy me clothes and every thing mom liked to think i needed .. and in between show me how to face the world holding your head up. We lived together for half a year when i shifted to the big city to prepare for entrance exams. Those years of struggle saw him cementing his place in MP state, Central zone for Duleep and Deodhar teams and me getting into college .. albeit a prestigious one.
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