I was never a good cricket player but I loved playing cricket. And I loved it well. Sometimes in our lives the intention behind an action matters more than the consequence.
Passionate about the game, I used to play in the field in front of our building amidst swings, see-saws and the old chaanpa gaach. Bikels used to be wonderful. The sun never tortured me in the mornings during holidays. No matter how much I sweated and no matter how frequently my oval specs used to slide down my sweaty nose, it didn't matter. It didn't matter that footwork wasn't in my batting dictionary, that I must have played 20 to 30 shots only during those days on the leg side, that my reflexes betrayed me while going for catches, that some of my leg spins used to land way outside off stump, that I was called "great player" by my friends for bringing in emotions in the field (I used to put all my heart into the game) and also for not being such a "great player" after all.
I remember how I pretended to sleep but actually waited for the grandfather clock to strike 4pm and would scurry for the nearest jeans and tee and how I used to skip stairs and set my feet upon the brown soil of the field. This used to be preceded by Kirons and Bimbos shouting aloud my name from the field inviting me to come down -- I live on the third floor of my building. I felt on the top of the world as soon as I set my feet on the ground.
There was Ricky, Babu, Jijoe, Arka, Bhutu, Shumon, Tuhin da, Puchku, Babai, Ashish da, Sagar da, Babu da, Chandan da and Butu -- friends and dadas who used to play with me. And of course there were kids who played with us too. We never discriminated or underestimated one's potential. At least I didn't.
The funny thing was that we used to spend more time setting the field and criticising others than playing. seriously, it was fun. Great fun. We used to cheat a lot (though I remember rare instances of me cheating in the games). One of us was famous for his on-field temper and he used to take away the ball, bats and the wickets with him to home as soon he felt that the ball should not have hit his wicket or it was a great sin for a fielder of his team to not drop a catch to dismiss him. But he was sweet with his red face every time he could not get his point across.
Another used to consider cheating as apart of the game and I used to be in his team most of the times.I used to overlook the cheating part if we won (Ahem!).
Tuhin da with his leg spin, Bhutu with his effortless sixes and Arka with his slow left arm deliveries sparked the magic on field.
Ricky and Bhutu used to break window panes the most (I broke three times...all were my home's panes). The ball would occasionally wander off to the "jungle" (overgrown shrubbery, nay, an unkempt jungle really) near our field and sometimes make its way to the neighbouring colony, P and T.
And who can forget the white kurta pajama clad ( haven't seen him in any other dress till now) professor who used to scream at the top of his voice whenever we went to retrieve our ball from his shabbily maintained garden.
Uniformly, I proved to be an essential pinch hitter and my luck as a bowler was satisfactory. In fact I enjoyed bowling much better than batting. I still have spurts of fantasies about running down the pitch and bowling 150kmph swings to batsmen. I remember being enterprising and inspiring as a captain even if we lost the game.
Our cricket games used to be followed by brilliant shorts of luko churi in (and sometimes outside -- the cheating continues) our compound.
Rains used to play spoilsport and a day, wasted, would dampen my spirits. Some days we used to play at other fields in the complex and also in front of Arka's house or Butu's house. In the bikels there used to be days of high satisfaction and days when I thought that two matches were too less for the day. But I had to return home eyes on the ground and heart on the field waiting for the next day. Even when private tuitions started in full flow, I used to glance at the field full of swarming passions and leave for a long walk to my coaching class.
Nowadays Kaustav asks me why don't I come down to play the occasional cricket games. The thing is nothing is the same and it's not the same fun anymore. Nowadays, I like watching others play. Occasionally I sit near my living room window and observe a game with intent, excitement -- maybe like how the 12th man would do in a game of cricket.
Passionate about the game, I used to play in the field in front of our building amidst swings, see-saws and the old chaanpa gaach. Bikels used to be wonderful. The sun never tortured me in the mornings during holidays. No matter how much I sweated and no matter how frequently my oval specs used to slide down my sweaty nose, it didn't matter. It didn't matter that footwork wasn't in my batting dictionary, that I must have played 20 to 30 shots only during those days on the leg side, that my reflexes betrayed me while going for catches, that some of my leg spins used to land way outside off stump, that I was called "great player" by my friends for bringing in emotions in the field (I used to put all my heart into the game) and also for not being such a "great player" after all.
I remember how I pretended to sleep but actually waited for the grandfather clock to strike 4pm and would scurry for the nearest jeans and tee and how I used to skip stairs and set my feet upon the brown soil of the field. This used to be preceded by Kirons and Bimbos shouting aloud my name from the field inviting me to come down -- I live on the third floor of my building. I felt on the top of the world as soon as I set my feet on the ground.
There was Ricky, Babu, Jijoe, Arka, Bhutu, Shumon, Tuhin da, Puchku, Babai, Ashish da, Sagar da, Babu da, Chandan da and Butu -- friends and dadas who used to play with me. And of course there were kids who played with us too. We never discriminated or underestimated one's potential. At least I didn't.
The funny thing was that we used to spend more time setting the field and criticising others than playing. seriously, it was fun. Great fun. We used to cheat a lot (though I remember rare instances of me cheating in the games). One of us was famous for his on-field temper and he used to take away the ball, bats and the wickets with him to home as soon he felt that the ball should not have hit his wicket or it was a great sin for a fielder of his team to not drop a catch to dismiss him. But he was sweet with his red face every time he could not get his point across.
Another used to consider cheating as apart of the game and I used to be in his team most of the times.I used to overlook the cheating part if we won (Ahem!).
Tuhin da with his leg spin, Bhutu with his effortless sixes and Arka with his slow left arm deliveries sparked the magic on field.
Ricky and Bhutu used to break window panes the most (I broke three times...all were my home's panes). The ball would occasionally wander off to the "jungle" (overgrown shrubbery, nay, an unkempt jungle really) near our field and sometimes make its way to the neighbouring colony, P and T.
And who can forget the white kurta pajama clad ( haven't seen him in any other dress till now) professor who used to scream at the top of his voice whenever we went to retrieve our ball from his shabbily maintained garden.
Uniformly, I proved to be an essential pinch hitter and my luck as a bowler was satisfactory. In fact I enjoyed bowling much better than batting. I still have spurts of fantasies about running down the pitch and bowling 150kmph swings to batsmen. I remember being enterprising and inspiring as a captain even if we lost the game.
Our cricket games used to be followed by brilliant shorts of luko churi in (and sometimes outside -- the cheating continues) our compound.
Rains used to play spoilsport and a day, wasted, would dampen my spirits. Some days we used to play at other fields in the complex and also in front of Arka's house or Butu's house. In the bikels there used to be days of high satisfaction and days when I thought that two matches were too less for the day. But I had to return home eyes on the ground and heart on the field waiting for the next day. Even when private tuitions started in full flow, I used to glance at the field full of swarming passions and leave for a long walk to my coaching class.
Nowadays Kaustav asks me why don't I come down to play the occasional cricket games. The thing is nothing is the same and it's not the same fun anymore. Nowadays, I like watching others play. Occasionally I sit near my living room window and observe a game with intent, excitement -- maybe like how the 12th man would do in a game of cricket.
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