Mangoes, Cricket and Comics….

It is April yet again. Again, it rained a little last night over here, not notably though.

I am quite grown up. Actually, I am getting older. This is an inevitable and painful disadvantage of being more than your age very early.

As, I am sitting in my 10X13 over my keypad with my NOKIA as the only living being out there, I am alone and aloof yet again. I never liked being alone but was always to be….. Agony never leaves me, typical Indian wives..whooff.

Yesterday was a day which is very rare to me. I wished for weekends, a long one. I was not willing to work despite getting a much above average appraisal. Not very uncommon to me, I was fooling myself. What a cheap and pollution free way to celebrate April fool.

Exactly 2 hours 3 minutes back it ended…yes, I am talking of Friday, the second. It was not good for me by any means. Had any predecessors been? No, rather never.

At times I pray. Yes, I do, despite being an atheist from the core of my élan vital, I pray.

I pray for praises, I pray for fame, I pray for money like anyone else but when I am only me, I pray for salvation. I pray for a couple of hours when I get preserval, when my nerves get smooth, when the atomic particles from the Hiroshima inside me are taken away.

But I get only equal to the amount of sugar one gets from onions.

No, I am not complaining because when you have so many complaints from every he, she or it, you are simply an upside down bowl………not suitable for this set up.

Yes, I have to agree to this bitter truth time and again.

It is April yet again.

Around 17-18 years back, yes I was not a kid at 10 so I need to go to an age of 6-7; I had some 4-5 summers.

Then, summer meant to me Nagraj, Dhruv, Bhokal, Ashwaraj, Hawaldaar Bahadur, Krookbond, Mahanayak Kids, Ram-Rahim, Aakrosh, Vidhwans…yessss, I got a good memory. These are, tense correction, were my life, my comic characters which took me to a different fearless world, where I was a real hero. A perfect knight rider…… (Don’t compare me with the likes of Ishant and Wriddhiman Saha).

But any cannon cannot fire without dynamite, the fuel.

Yes, we had ripe and sweet jackfruits, true we had melons. My father bought lots of cucumber and my mum is a stunning cook. But my dynamite was mangoes. I had a special (eh you can compare it with feminine) attraction for them. Dashahree, Chausaa, Langdaa, Beeju and yes lowest on waste matter Maldah from Malda Town . Every visit to my granny’s place meant only mangoes to me. I was in love with those summers.

Calendars changed, my teeth rusted and I grew older. None of my childhood’s teeth were broken though. Mangoes felt I am piling on them and we parted, yes we did. My true love was transpired as lust. Was it? May be, probably. Or may be I loved them a bit too much. But then that’s how I love. Anyone or anything.

I was 9, and it was……April again.

I played, I played a boy’s game for first time.

What??

I never played children’s games probably. I was an infant and then I transformed only to play numerology and mathematics with bodily grown ones. I was bad at marbles which I played for time less than that I spent collecting them.

Yes, the boy’s game. It was a sensation. It was like an early age salvation to me. I felt like sitting tender with a 58 year old body using an immortal surrogate of 23 to drive a racer care.

The ball, the swing, the pitch, the bails, the bats, the cluttering of stumps……..yes, cricket was a sensation. Cricket was like worship to me. Nothing special, everyone in our country is cricket obsessed.

But for me, it was just like 60 pages of Dhruv’s comics. It was not an individual force for me, I did not wanted to be in the centre always. I just wanted to be a part of it, ever.

They call it a sport and not a game. I call it an art, art of living. And yes, I may not be a Tendulkar or an Akram but I proudly lived something special.

Days passed, all of them, all the three left me. Perhaps I must confess, I left all of them, I had to.

It is April yet again.

I am working now. Actually, I am working lesser now but working for money. I still remember the fragrance of half ripe mangoes. I still try Nagraj’s hairstyle. I still dream of bowling Ponting out.

I know none of them is possible. Rather, nothing is possible for me. I do nothing which can be noticed, neither have done any.

I know my shouting, thinking, curbing will not help me by any means but it is yet 4AM only…I’ve still got 2 long days to pass.

It is April yet again………..I am coming back from my memory lanes.

Good Fr… Saturday, if it can help.

I am waiting for my good Friday, may be I can have rebirth some Easter. 

Mangoes, cricket and comics…………..it is April yet again….