That Night in Belur...

My phone began to ring. It was so breezy that at first I thought that the sound was coming from a distance. I took out the phone. It was Betu. “Dada, where are you right now? I want to meet you,” he said. “Beta, I can’t meet you now. I’m a little busy” I replied. There was a pause on the other end, and then he said “You don’t sound okay, Dada. Is everything alright? Please tell me where you are right now!” he begged.

I looked at the Ganges in front of me. The water mirrored the lights of the buildings and factories on the other bank. The reflections shivered on the waves. It was cold, it was dark, and I was alone on an obscure ghat in Belur. I was trying to take a decision. I was thinking whether there was any point in my living anymore.

“Beta,” I said, “do you love me?” His panicked voice resounded from the phone, “Yes, Dada, of course. Why are you asking such questions today? Please tell me what has happened! Please tell me where you are! Please, Dada, don’t do anything rash!” He started crying. My brother. But today I would not let even him bring me back.

When dad was on ventilation in the hospital and the doctors had said that he may not live, I had stared at his face for a long time one evening. It was full of pain and sadness. Perhaps he had sensed that his right hand had been amputated. I had put my palm on his forehead and told him, “Baba, don’t worry. Everything will be alright. I’ll soon complete the M.A. and get a job. We’ll be fine, you’ll see.” He was very happy when I scored a high percentage in M.A. He hugged me and wept when I got my job offer letter. He was ecstatic when I told him about my registration in a Ph.D programme. For two years it seemed I had indeed succeeded in bringing him back to his normal self.

For those two years she had constantly been by my side. In every moment of happiness and crisis she had shared my emotions; she had kept telling me that everything would be fine soon. She told me that I was her hero; that she had never loved anyone more than me. Our parents were getting ready for our wedding. Everything would indeed be fine again, I had begun to believe. Until she left me. Why did such a young and lovely human being have to die? Why was God so bent on destroying me?

I would not be able to face my parents with the news. I would not be able to fight another big battle to organise my life. My life, of which perhaps nothing more remained. The Ganges seemed to be the only place where nothing bad and scary would touch me again. It was time to go.

I suddenly felt someone’s palm on my shoulder. “Don’t even think about dying,” his angry voice ordered. And then he began to sob. “Don’t leave me, Dada, please don’t leave me. He hugged me tightly and kept saying, "amake ebhabe chhere choley jeo na Dada...tumi choley gele amio morey jabo..." His tears wet my chest. I slowly put my hands around him and kissed his forehead.

Life wouldn’t let go of me yet, I realised.

Passion Revisited

I have always loved cricket. I played a lot too, when I was younger. Now that I am twenty seven, and professionally engaged for most part of the week, I rarely get the time to play the game. Instead, I sometimes find time to watch a match or two.

Recently, a jazz team from America performed in our college. The students as well as teachers were very excited about the concert. It was surely going to be the experience of a lifetime, we said to each other. On the day of the programme, at the notified time, all the teachers and students went to the auditorium. Now, our college shares its campus with a school that is run by the same trust. So we have one big auditorium in the school building, where programmes of both the institutions are held from time to time. Just outside the auditorium is the play ground of the school. This ground is clearly visible from the window of our college’s staff room, and I often spend hours enjoying watching the kids of the school play cricket. How I wish at times to run out of our building and join them!

On the day of the jazz concert when I reached the auditorium, I found that the programme was yet to begin. Although my students requested me to take my seat, I chose to walk out and headed towards the play ground where around fifteen teenagers were playing cricket, under the watchful supervision of their sports instructor. The instructor was seated some furlongs away from the seat of action, and on seeing me walking towards him he rose from his chair and welcomed me to the field. Another chair was brought, and I sat beside him and we began chatting about various things. My mind kept slipping away from our conversation to the game on the field. After a few minutes he noticed this and asked me if I was interested in the game. I told him that I have never gone to any stadium to watch a game of cricket live because I have always thought that I would not be able to control myself and perhaps jump on to the field to play, and get arrested by the police. Hearing this, the instructor smiled and asked whether I would like to join the kids on the ground. I said I would love to, provided they are not told that I am a teacher at the college, because if they are, they would not be comfortable playing with me.

After about five years I played cricket intensely for two hours that day. It was a wonderful experience, playing with those energetic and enthusiastic young kids and matching up to their performances. I was surprised to discover that I had not lost my skills, despite such a long gap. Even the kids were surprised by my performance, and kept asking whether I was on any good team somewhere. Every time I bowled one of them out, the others would come running towards me and jump on me, hug me, or pat me. All this brought back my childhood days, when I played cricket every day, and enjoyed such admiration and adulation from my team mates.

I missed the jazz performance that day, but I gained something that would stay for a long time with me. As we grow up, life sucks us into its complicated and uncontrollable whirlpools, and our unadulterated and innocent childhood gets sealed in a coffin, and we forget all about the most beautiful part of our existence. When the kids were finally told that I am a professor at the college, they were very ashamed of their spontaneous actions on the field; perhaps they were a little frightened too, but I told them that I did not want them to know that I am a teacher because otherwise we would not have had so much fun together for those two hours. On that day I made friends with some wonderfully bright and sporting kids, and my favourite game again played a catalyst in the process.