Taken from http://www.taoism.net/living/2003/200301.htm
One day, while walking through the wilderness, a man encountered a vicious tiger. He ran for his life, and the tiger gave chase. The man came to the edge of a cliff, and the tiger was almost upon him. Having no choice, he held on to a vine with both hands and climbed down. Halfway down the cliff, the man looked up and saw the tiger at the top, baring its fangs. He looked down and saw another tiger at the bottom, waiting for his arrival and roaring at him. He was caught between the two. Two rats, one white and one black, showed up on the vine above him. As if he didn't have enough to worry about, they started gnawing on the vine. He knew that as the rats kept gnawing, they would reach a point when the vine would no longer be able to support his weight. It would break and he would fall. He tried to shoo the rats away, but they kept coming back. At that moment, he noticed a strawberry growing on the face of the cliff, not far away from him. It looked plump and ripe. Holding onto the vine with one hand and reaching out with the other, he plucked it.
With a tiger above, another below, and two rats continuing to gnaw on his vine, the man tasted the strawberry and found it absolutely delicious.
I feel I am alive.
I know I am alive.
But am I ?
May be forcing myself to be alive.
I mean a place where you can run away to, where you will be happy. I am sure I had one.
But I don't remember it now.
I was very sad. Sad about lot of things. I wanted to express this to someone. But I couldn't. It had repercussions. So the logical thing was to shut up and let the time pass by.
But then you cannot be silent forever. It suffocates you after some time. Then you think about the happy place. The place where you will be happy because that is the happiest place you have been to.
So many places came by when I tried to go there. Like those pictures that are rotated to get a feel of motion, they zipped passed my vision. It was like there was no happy place for me. Atleast not a true one.
I am quite disappointed about the fact that even after all these years I didn't have a happy place where I could take a recluse.
Or perhaps, I didn't need one before.
I never wanted to run away there. I never had done that before. Until now.
May be I need to have a happy place. A place where I will be a bystander, watching what is happening and being happy about it.
Sometimes you fall into a dream while sleeping only to know that you have been only sleeping when you get up. That is what life in Marseille was all about.
On a windy and cold morning in November I came here. I came in with nothing and I am going back with everything. I haven't gained anything that I wished for. But I gained so many things that I never asked for. I did not learn anything new but I gained so much insight into my life. Things I never would have learned in the busy streets of India.
I know it was just a dream. Now I have woken up to my life.
Life became slow. A curious ponder about infinite mundane things that I could otherwise wouldn't have ignored in the plethora of distractions. It defined a sufficient, necessary and absolutely necessary things I require in my life.
Sometimes it takes a lifetime to understand what one wants. But once you find what you really want then you have life to live, you think everything is figured out. Wrong, the biggest irony is you know what you want but you can't do it. You are bounded by your own strings that you got attached with over the period. It is a curse I believe.
Back in Bangalore, I see instances of Marseille. And those instances take me back there at least for moment. Some times you ask the question of Why. Why you went there ? Why you left there? and so many other whys. I have learned to laugh at my idiocies. But I think sometimes there is a tear or two that drops when I laugh at them. But then thats life. Isn't it ?
I thought only in India you can stop a train and make it wait until all your family and friends from the village in the horizon have boarded. But apparently in France too, you can do this. This is an account of the story that happened last Saturday.
On Saturday morning we were on our way to Island of Porquorolles. It is the most the visited island of France after Corsica. To reach there, we took a train to Hyeres, then a bus to Tour Fondue. In the morning when we took the bus, we covered this distance in 25 minutes. From there we took a ferry to the island.
In summer, Porquorolles is like a green dry patch in the blue hue that encompasses it. It is filled with gorges and calanques along with olives, grapes and some other rare vegetations. To cover the island before the end of the day, we hired bikes. As soon as we started, we missed the turn that would have kept us on the route the rental bike told us. But the badass overconfident bunch we are, we missed it.
After toiling for almost half a day and discovering the island in a very strange manner, we decid to go back. But not before the customary dip in the Mediterranean. That was epic! It was stunning blue water and quite calm to swim around.
As per our plan, we were supposed to take the 8.02 PM train. That was the last train to Marseille from Hyeres. As per our estimate and also, the god aka google maps, it would take us 25 min to reach Station from Tour Fondue. This was verified by each of us when we came in. So we took 6:00PM ferry from the island to Tour Fondue. When we reached the dock at around 6.30 the bus to station was already waiting. Few of my friends were already queueing up to take the tickets. The bus to station was every 15 min. So ideally we could borrow 30 minutes to roam around the city of Hyeres.
I think I was salesman in my last birth. I sold to my friends the idea that we can take 7:00 PM bus. After the sale, I roamed around Hyeres. At sharp 7:00 we boarded the bus with gleeful faces.
As soon as the bus started to move, we caught a glimpse of catastrophe that is going to strike us. We were going to be late because of the snail like traffic. The god, after estimating all odds were saying that we will reach by 8.02PM . That is going to be close. Or nearly stating the fact that we are going to miss the train.
Except for 3 us, everybody else had an invisible streak of sweat on their forehead. We were poking each other and telling the tales of people could stop train in India. But inside our head we knew how this out turn out. No place to go, people getting frustrated, accusations etc.
We reached the station at 8.02 PM as predicted by the god. I ran towards the platform. As I was entering the platform, I saw the station master. We asked in which platform 8.02 PM train was, the guy gave a blank look. Then somebody found that it was in Platform C. Normally there is an underground passage to connect from one platform to another. I started frantically searching for them. Then it occurred to me that, since the station was small, we had to run towards the end of platform and literally cross it. We started running towards the end of the platform.
Somehow I reached the end of the platform only to see the guard giving the signal to the driver. He was going to close the door. I gasped and in my sign version of French language, I asked him to wait for my friends. Then guy 1 came and joined me.
We both were waiting and seeing the "Tamasha" that was happening across the platform
Guy 2 was running with shorts coming loose. So he stops in mid way and tightens his shorts and then starts to run again! The way he did would make anybody laugh and roll over. Guy 3 was running towards the end of the platform to cross but he suddenly stops and then retracts. He starts to run in the opposition direction. Guy 4 stops him. They are telling something which we can't here. Apparently Guy 3 thought he forgot his goggles so he was going back to collect it. Guy 2 was telling him that it is still on his face! Gal 1 is looking for Guy 4. Checking behind first when he was actually in front of her
Now comes the epic scene
Gal 2walking leisurely to the end of the platform. By this time everybody is inside the train is waiting for her to come. However to everybody's' horror she walks leisurely. Everybody started to shout asking her to speed up. After sometime she cuts the platform and come in.
The guard is not screaming saying that he is going to loose his job. The train is late by 2 min when we started to move!
I was in Paris this week. I got down at Franklin D Roosvelt Metro Station and I had to catch Metro 1 to connect to Louvre. A series of twist and turns takes you from Metro 9 to Metro 1. I love them. There is a sense of romanticism that creeps in when you walk through them. A subtle happiness of how your life turned out to be. About what you were and what you became. Nothing great compared to many greats. But it is a simple realization that life, as such, is simply beautiful.
While walking towards my next boarding point, I could hear a faint music from guitar. It perfectly matched my thoughts. Like a beautiful ode to that simple, yet beautiful moment. I laughed with all the innocence my chubby cheeks could offer.
He wore a grey jacket with the guitar case in his front. He had few coins in it. The lady walking before me added one more. Then she raised her head and our eyes met for a shimmer. There was a smile on her face. May the same that I had.
The pace I was walking, I passed him briskly. May be I saw a CD cover. May it was his own. Then I had this sudden urge to tip him. I frantically searched for a coin in my wallet. I had few cents. May be 80. I stopped walking, turned and started walking towards him. Nobody was behind me. Except for the tunnel and the man playing the guitar there was nobody. I put the coins in his case and told a thank you.
Another beautiful night in Paris. Oh Paris, Je t'aime!!!
Beyond what there is, there is more. And sometimes even more.
What I eyes don't see. Yet visible enough, in a shade and in a language which only heart can understand.
Cold breeze from the port mouth ran its icy fingers, to freeze thoughts which, now, come as random guesses. Or are they?
Under the bus stop sign, the man in black jacket stood. His impatience engraved on his pale forehead. May be for the bus that was late or may be for the baby who waited for him, back at home. Or may be just like that.
Another set of icy fingers touched and shivers ran again. Hood of the black jacket, covered his unshaven face. He has been waiting for before we came. May be he will come in the same as mine. From the distant horizon, the yellow lights of the bus became visible. It was speeding towards us, as if its sole purpose is to meet us.
My friend gave me a bisou and we parted. I walked towards the bus, expecting what the man in black jacket would do.
As I boarded the bus, I paused for a second, like giving a way for the man in black jacket to enter. But he didn't. The bus started to move. I saw him standing there with the same worried expression.
For few minutes, I racked my brains for the multiple reason about his expression. There were plenty but none seemed to fit exactly into the situation.
It was time for the Holmes to retire. I sat down and watched the shimmering lights pass by as the bus sped towards Redon.
F: Hi!
H: Hello..
F: What is up ?
H: Nothing much. Working in the lab.
F: So late?
H: We researchers work late. We have to.
F: So did you think about it?
H: Yes. I am a very simple guy. Wants to have very simple life and do simple things in life.
F: hehe...i am not that complex
H: Ya ya, I am a small town boy and you from a big city. I understand things.
F: lol
F: No i am not like that. But yes I do like to party and all.
H: See..
F: You dont like to ?
H: Not much
F: I feel like drinking today and then go for sleep.
H: hmm....
F: You don't drink no?
H: No. I don't drink coffee or tea also.
F: Never?
H: may be once in a blue moon. But thats it.
F: lol!!
H: We are village people, we don't know the ways of city.
F: lol!!
F: Listen can we meet sometime? It is been due for so long!
H: I am bit busy..
F: Everyday ?
H: Not everyday but yes, I work late.
F: What about this weekend?
H: Not possible, I will be in the lab.
F: What about dinner tomorrow then ?
H: what...so fast ? :P
I took this picture while strolling through the streets of Padua. It is a small town some 40 kms away from Venice. I saw somebody taking this shot. So like a robber, I sneaked into the position and took this shot.
While I was taking this picture, I thought it would be very good as it is.
After spending few minutes there, I moved on. I wandered across the streets of Padua and then got back to my hotel with an overtly aching pair of legs. I fell into deep sleep soon.
Few days later, once back home, I processed this photo. What came out of it was a mediocre photograph. I was first annoyed at my own photography skills. I have been lazy in taking my camera out. Apparently, a DSLR has become too heavy for me. So I stopped clicking pictures. Pictures wherein i used to weave my words to express the world that I used to see. I started forgetting stories along with words, faces, music, hobbies, people, voices and many more. I do not why.
But when I closely observed the image, I found it to be beautiful. Much much beautiful than I initially thought it would be. I was slowly getting back what I had lost or started loosing.
To me it is perfect. And something so perfect that I wonder whether I clicked it. I am happy that I clicked it. I am happy that I saw that person clicking that picture. I am happy that I followed the sweet kid who was going to get an ice cream. I am happy that I got that ice cream. I am happy that I conversed with that old Italian lady at the ice cream shop in French. I am happy that she laughed and made me laugh and then fed me more icecream for less. I am happy that I stumbled upon parc de Velle from there, which was beautiful.
I understood that I have to click more. Because it leads me to me whom I lost for some time.
Sweltering heat of Cartagena did not slow them down. They had only few more hours together. She met him while touring, he was alone then. But tomorrow his brother joins him. In a non-serious manner, he told a serious thing. He cannot tell about her to his brother. This would be a secret. A secret hidden in the dusty, wayward streets of Cartagena. And when they stopped making this love intoxicated with cocaine and alcohol, they would part their ways. That was the deal.
Passion spreading across fault lines of body, they became closer.
Done. Bathed in sweat and ecstasy, he fell on to her. That sweet smell of stench and French perfume, now will not leave him. Or may be it will.
And when everything was to fall into place, she got up. Back at home, her boyfriend would be waiting for her. She quickly put on the clothes gutting down the guilt inside her throat. Trying hard to hide this tryst with a fellow backpacker, or may be more, she didn't now, into some abyss of her memory.
And they parted.
Next morning, she saw him with his brother. They were walking across the street. The dark shades of her glass was not enough to hide the yearning in her eyes to be in his arms. Guilt was buried way deep in her memory. But he did not see her. Or rather, he pretended she was not there. They crossed the cafe she and her friend was sitting.
"Do you want to see him?" Her friend asked seeing the anguish and desperation.
Paris - Probably the only place in the world where you will loose yourself to find you,again.
Like an ode played with memories casted epitaphs, only to you. With the beautiful Seine, pristine as it was before and it will be tomorrow, showing the meanders of your life. And you walk along the stone pavement, in midst of falling leaves of autumn, remembering things you have forgotten.
And they say Paris is the city of Lovers. Yes, it is indeed.
Makes one yearn for love or the love that was lost. Paris if visited alone resembles a beauty hiding behind a black veil. You know it is beautiful, you are eager to remove the veil and explore. However it demands more than a pair of hands to unveil them, as if a single pair alone cannot grab them and unveil them.
Without maps or a guide, the city takes you to the epicenter of romance - The Eiffel Tower. And here at Parc du Champ de Mars, you see it as how it should be seen. From different vantage points of the city, you see it, you wonder how tall or big it is. But here, you are awed at the engineering masterpiece. More than the mesh of steel and complexity, Eiffel depicts the human spirit. In a very transcending triviality giving you a picture of structured complexity which you search for in your life. And when you look up from underneath it, you see the complexity slowly dissolving into thin air in the end. Just like life.
Paris is beautiful and it beauty lies in how you look at it. Every time you visit it, it presents a different picture. Like a beautiful lady donning different attires matching the seasons that come and go. Paris is like a song which lingers in your mind. One you often hum to, which you cannot put off that easily. Nevertheless the more you wishes to forget, it persists.
Paris has this strange paradoxical aura. Here you are a stranger yet you feel you know these places. You feel as if you stood here or there, a long time ago. You imagine people who have walked the same route like yours, years before and many, many years before that. As if you are part of a history, a panorama that spans a millennium. Perhaps this thought makes you introspect. Yes, Paris presents to you the what if possibilities. And the beauty there in.
Paris is much more than what can be penned down. It is a city where you have to soak in to enjoy. Don't try to understand it but choose to get yourself lost. Because then Paris find yourself for you.
Having written many, he counts only one as his favorite story.
And that story was written only for one reader. A reader who will never read that story. A story which only that reader could understand in all its complexity as well as its nuanced simplicity. Perhaps more than what he managed to tell.
Now he writes, and he writes for many. And thus, stories are no longer favorite. They are good. But they are not his favorite. Perhaps the lingering taste of a last page sentence still ruminate or perhaps an alluring sense of belongingness ties him to that story. Or simply it might be nostalgic delusion.
But like pages that has been turned over, getting dusted in the shady sun. Stories would be forgotten. New stories would be written and favorite stories would be created.
Of course for somebody who is worth reading it. And thus he continue writing, for that reader who awaits for that story.
In the crammed make shift tent, there was no space for all of them. They were a group of 40 people going to Nagroli camp, which was way up in the mountains.
"Lets go to that thatched house there". He said with a grumpy face. He couldn't stand the crowd. The whole reason why he came for this trip was to enjoy some time away from the crowd.
Without waiting for the answer and discussions that followed, he went out of the tent and started to jog towards the thatched house. In between, few hailstones hit him. It was hurting yet, he continued his steps.
He could hear people commenting about his crazy act. This prompted him to run towards the house.
Slowly the yellow tent and the voices, from different languages, started to disappear. Soon he could see the features of the house.
It was thatched. But the walls were not new. They were old, with mud from where river meanders around the valley. In a kind of dilapidated condition, yet somebody was taking care of it. It was a two storey house, like every house he saw on the way. Yet, it was different, with a balcony running around the house. There were wooden railings around it, supported by wooden pillars with wide spacing between them.
The ground floor was used as store room and also as oven. May be to heat the room upstairs. The creaky wood stairs took him to first floor. The doors were closed with a Godrej lock guarding them. He knew nobody was there. It belonged to him, at least for sometime.
The hail was now strong. He could no longer see the Yellow tent. They were far away. Far away from this part of the world.
He walked over the hay stacks to see what was hidden behind the house.
And there he saw the heaven.
In a distance, there stood the magnificent Parvati peak. Parvati river played hide and seek through the pine trees in front of him. Far to his right, there were array of other himalayan peaks. There was no hail and beyond them, clouds pulled of patches of shades in blue and orange. It was magnificent.
He put his backpack down. And put his legs into the space between pillars and let them dangle from balcony railings. Put his chin down on the railing support and gazed at the most beautiful place he has ever seen.
If only others could have left that Yellow tent. They missed it.
I was in Waching village. Some day I would love to go back there. And watch from there, the mountains beyond and the river that flow below and breath that cool fresh air and listen to the sweet echoes of mountains.
I am so happy. Does that mean I cannot be more happy ?
I cannot be more happier. Does it mean I was sad the moment before ? And what about my future happiness. Do I have no hope of being more happy ?
How do you say you are happy? You have to compare with the moment before to say you are happy.
If so you will be always sad. Ain't you ? Because you will be always comparing with the moment before. The moment that is by gone and you will be looking in the future with an eye towards the back.
Like a river that passes down the hill, yearning to go beyond what the banks has to offer, I drift. In search of my ocean. And then ? Does anybody reach their ocean. Or is life is all about this search for ocean.
But, are we supposed to be find our happiness in this search or in peace of the after search.
"Excuse me but I think there is some problem with the Air conditioning. It is functioning only from one side" She complained to the air hostess.
"Madam that is fine. It should be working like that." The French air hostess replied in impeccable English.
She was not sure. But was somehow tried to assure her that everything is fine.
She turned to me and said." I am afraid of flying".
"Me too.", I lied. She was happy to get a company.
Moment 2:
Walking in the busy streets of La Rambla with hundreds of nationalities speaking in different languages and passing by, I wanted to enjoy without much commotion. I plugged in my head phones and suddenly the world around me came to a nonchalance harmony. I slowly drifted into beats and lyrics of the song. Suddenly La Rambla disappeared, instead stoned pavements of Vadakunathan Temple painted my eyes with shades of grey. I stopped my music. In one of the metal plates kept for sale, I saw
"The creation continues incessantly through the media of man" ~ Antoni Gaudi
The song that took me from greatest city of Europe to nadapatha of Vadakunathan was this one:
Moment 3:
"Ola" I said to greet the sales girl near the changing room.
She showed me the room to try out the jeans.
They were too long
"Gracias" I told her while going back to select another one. One nice habit I picked here in Europe being thankful for anything and everything. "Gracias" she said with a smile.
She smile when I came back with another pair. Again she showed me a new trial room. But this time instead of Spanish, French came in my mouth. "Merci". I said hastily. She was about to say Gracias when she heard Merci.
The new pair of pants were too short.
I came back again with a new pair. This time she was getting ready with her French when I started talking in English. It was fun. She understood I was just playing around. Like in Japanese custom, she bowed a bit and then showed me my new trial room. Then iI said "arigatou".
She didn't know what that mean't. I repeated "Thank you in Japanese".
She laughed. The jeans fitted perfectly.
Moments 4:
Lucas had made his local Sangria - red wine, gin, lemon, orange, apple, sugar and pepper. And it tasted well. With a glass of Sangria, Alec, Amadeus, Igor and myself listened to him play Guitar. He was bit tipsy in his own drink.
"Don't you see the sad face,
the face of the man,
of a woman left so long ago".
"Look at the pretty face,
around the corner,
is that her who left you
is that her who is waiting for you." He sang on.
I smiled.
Moment 5:
"Once you reach Av La Tibidabo, take a bus to Funicular." Patricia had told me.
However, once I reached the avenue, I chose not to take the bus and started walking. And got lost.
I had purposely not enabled my phone on roaming. I cursed myself for doing. Without GPS I am like lame duck. After searching for half an hour I came in front of a park. For some reason i thought it would take me to top of the mountain. I started walking for the next 15 minutes. At the end of the trail, there was a small sign board saying "Way to Funicular"
Moment 6:
"Everything that government tries to hide finally reach here" Christy said. He was showing the gutter where it was full of cigarette buds. He was telling me about the alternative history of Barcelona. And in his cynicism I found what I found in every anarchist : A determination to overthrow the system.
"Everybody knows the problem, assuming that you get a chance to change it what is the alternative and how would you accomplish it." I questioned with a slight irritation in my tone.
"I write and let the word spread. Thats is what my mission is and that is what I am doing" He said with an egalitarian haughtiness.
"But that is just surviving not accomplishing something" I knew I was rude. But he did not care and we walked on.
Moment 7: "I think you should try it. It is fun" Katie was telling about the work she was doing at the vineyards. She is professional web designer who is on a 1 year vacation to Europe.
"Yes, I plan to do it." I said. I put the straps of my backpack and said bye to her and left.
On the door step, Vincent was waiting with advance amount I had paid while checking in.
"All the best man and travel, there is still a lot to see you know." He said in his husky voice.
Mrinalini didn't want to come out of his memories. She thought he was the one: The prince with whom she would happily ever after. But it was not.
Her friend hadn't uttered a word for the last 15 min. He was watching the waves that lashed out against the dilapidated fort walls.
"Tell me is love and waiting interlinked ?" She asked.
No reply. He was still staring at the natures fury unleashed on to the walls.
"Ok, you also don't answer. Fine! Don't talk to me." Her eyes started to brim with tears. Again.
He looked at her, suggesting to repeat what she asked. He was back.
"Adi what do you think of love and waiting." She repeated.
"You don't wait when you are in love. But if you don't wait then probably you are not in love. That is the irony of love. The love I believe in"
He continued to stare at the waves.
"That is really stupid. You would end up waiting all through your life. No? ". She taunted him.
He continued to stare at the waves. Slowly tide was coming down.
With such an eloquent ease, he made his way through the confusion and heat. He was not in a hurry even though he didn't know the platform on which he would find his train home.
On the dilapidated notice board, he found the platform number of his train. It was written with a smudgy red marker that S6 would be at position 12. He walked towards it. He thanked his stars for not taking the crossing bridge. He hated climbing those steps!
She was already there. Safely seated inside and waving at him. She was showing him signs to speed up as the train had already started to move. But he didn't care. He was thinking about the sweet box he used to buy whenever he left for home. He didn't have one this time. He missed the yellow packing of the box with Adyar Anand Bhavan written in dark blue. It had the smell of pure ghee which they used to make the sweets. He missed the Yellow box and the smell of ghee.
He normally doesn't take this train. It had a unusual timing. It leaves Chennai at 4 in the evening and reaches home at 3 in the morning. But then she called and asked him to accompany her. And he agreed because it was a long time since he went home.
Before the train picked up speed, he got hold on to the yellow bar near the door. Behind him Chennai station's watch tower slowly moved into horizon.
He walked towards her coup. Unfamiliar faces, some lost and some already settled. He was looking around for some interesting character. Suddenly she came from her coup and called him.
She was her classmate from yesteryears. Once she was very close to him and then she had to change the school as her dad got transferred to another city. They had lost touch until years later they accidentally met here in Chennai. And one day, out of the blue, she came with this request.
She had changed. Her eyes were more wider. Eyelashes neatly blackened. She wore a brown cotton salwar. She had a bangle like watch which had an odd symbol. She smiled at him. That hadn't changed.
And they talked - about school days, about home works, about their best friend, about college, about lovers, about sex, about future.
Train was nearly reaching home. Around 10 ours had passed and both of them did not notice. Everybody else had departed on the stations before theirs. And when they stopped talking there was silence. Synchronous sound of rotating wheels played a music to that silence.
The cold breeze from the window ruffled her hair and she was was having trouble adjusting her hair. He got up and closed the rustic iron window.
It was then their eyes met each other. They hadn't met for a long time. Both didn't avert their gaze.
He never took the first move. Not now and not then. So she said in calm voice "Didn't you have a crush on me? "
He would have refuted it but then it was around 3:00 AM and he didn't want to tell a lie. "How did you know ? ".
"I always knew" She told.
"How?" He persisted.
"Because I had a crush on you." She blushed.
"Why didn't you tell me ?" He queered.
"I thought you would tell me first." He could see the disappointment in those eyes. "I waited for long but then you never said anything." She looked down.
The signboard for Palakkad junction zipped past them and train started to slow down.He silently got and picked up her bag from upper rack and gave it to her. Their eyes met again.
In the centre of that green lush ground, a tall Afghan was getting ready to bat. The bowler had just finished giving field setting instruction to his men.
He was playing cricket after 19 years. All these years he was just a mere spectator watching this game on his couch with a can of soda and fries. However, he felt he was more fit than people around. But he did not show that on field. Instead he watched them.
He was playing with Afghans for the first time. Infact before this day, he had never met an Afghan. He They were in their mid 20s and 30s. Some were students and some working. All of them had a story to tell about how they left Afghanistan. War had brought them to knees.
But, they had over come that, or so he thought. What he saw there was immense energy and spirit to win.
Everybody was giving instruction to each other. Everybody thought they were right in their decision.
It was fascinating for him to see the spirit of humanity to fight and move forward. Everybody wanted to win and they knew or they thought they were right.
Bhai!!! Suddenly his adrenaline shot up, bringing him back to reality and he ran forward to catch hold of the ball.
With hands in front like, spread out, to catch a chicken on run. The ball slipped through his hands and in between his legs.
There was unanimous shout of disbelief from other 10 players.
The tall guy came to him and told him how to field. He also showed how to do it. Then he went back. He thanked with courteous node.
To them it was not just a game. It was game they wanted to win.
He smiled. For a change he thought he will play along. To win.
