BANNER CREDITS: RITUPARNA CHATTERJEE
A woman with the potential to make it big. It is not that she cannot: she simply will not.
PHOTO CREDITS: ANIESHA BRAHMA
The closest anyone has come to being an adopted daughter.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
A hundred and seventy five thoughts
I was amidst familiar people when 175 took off. All logic seemed to point at the fact that 351 was an unachievable target. All records, all documentation from the past seemed to pinpoint at the fact that Australia were in the most comfortable of positions. It was familiar, it had happened thousands of times (or maybe millions), and there wasn't anything new about it.
What was different, then? What gave me hope? What made me feel that this was different? Was it because He was there? But He had been there all along: I had met Him, thanks to technology, several years back; several others had invaded my life, I've had the Dravids and Kumbles and Laxmans swarming my memories. Laxman remains my "official" favourite cricketer. But somewhere deep down my subconscious, He had remained. And the fact remains that He still rules, and rules good.
He wasn't as great as you portray Him to be, they said. Possibly not. But the fact remains that when He holds the bat in air that extra second as a follow-through of that straight drive of His, your heart misses a beat. It's not about whether He bats brilliantly or not. It's about the way He seduces me into absolute submission. It's about the way He has overpowered my thoughts, my rational existence into an unconditional relationship for a lifetime.
At times I wonder whether it's a bat He yields. The bat seems to fit so naturally into His arms that it I often get the feeling that He might well have been an Egyptian scribe from some long-lost period of glory, marvelled at the realisation of the immense power of mastering a language. He might have been there for ages, composing masterpieces in a language familiar to all, but mastered only by Him.
How epic was the 175? I wish I had encountered something similar before, so that I could have compared. There was He, completely oblivious to the fact that this was a mere workplace for Him: workplaces are meant to carry out mundane jobs like receiving parcels, attending board meetings and visiting sites; not to have fun and mesmerise worshippers, take them under complete control and make them bow to His wish. But does He care? Since when did Masters bother about the rules set by us?
I wish I were better with words. I wish I could do something to satisfy My Hero, the way He has done me over time, and especially during the 175. Sigh...